


Belong

by jawsandbones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Here Lies the Abyss, Hurt/Comfort, Let's get ready to hurt, Love, Post-Tresspasser, Romance, Sexual Content, f!hawris, fenhawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Hawke - a study.<br/>From 'A Bitter Pill' to after 'Tresspasser'</p><p>He was drowning in her skin. Leaving, losing, lost inside of her. Her fingers were on his face and he breathed into her palm, her hands dragging him to the surface. She pressed her lips to his, his name on her breath. Her eyes fluttered as they rocked together, holding each other close, not daring to part. He nestled his face into her neck, and he could hear every whisper and whimper she made. He had come to her full of rage and despair in equal measure. She had taken it, molded it into something more. I am yours. A willing slave to her every whim. Happiness was with her, written in a way he could understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Departure

**Author's Note:**

> Take me under your wing  
> Show me shelter from evil things  
> Can't leave me alone  
> Don't leave me alone for long  
> \- Belong by Tender
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr! :) http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/ As always, happy to talk about everything

He was drowning in her skin. Leaving, losing, lost inside of her. Her fingers were on his face and he breathed into her palm, her hands dragging him to the surface. She pressed her lips to his, his name on her breath. Her eyes fluttered as they rocked together, holding each other close, not daring to part. He nestled his face into her neck, and he could hear every whisper and whimper she made. He had come to her full of rage and despair in equal measure. She had taken it, molded it into something more. _I am yours_. A willing slave to her every whim. Happiness was with her, written in a way he could understand.

 _Fenris, Fenris, Fenris_. Her whispered mantra, one that filled him with pleasure and peace. How could he have gone so long without her touch? She was not selfish with her affection and reached for him often, but he was the one who shied away. He found himself mystified that a touch could ever be kind. This time, he was helpless to do anything but lean into her touch. She had smoothed his brow, brushing away errant hair, cupped his face and smiled. _You don't need to leave, Fenris_. So he stayed, with her and her touch. She gasped beneath him, her eyes opening wide and fixating on his face. A beautiful blue world lay in those eyes, a world whose only occupant was him.

He could do nothing but hold on to her when he could not last any longer, hips losing all sense of rhythm as he buried himself inside her. This moment, this act, with her, was more than he could take. It was though every step of his life presented itself, showing the path he took to get to her. It was everything he ever had, ever wanted, and then it was gone. Breathing heavily, they separated weakly and she drew him into her arms. She held him, pressing gentle kisses into his hair, a gentle hand stroking his jaw. He held her tightly, his arms wrapped around her waist, their legs intertwined. She was holding broken pieces together and she didn't know. He couldn't stay this broken thing. He couldn't stay.

When she had fallen asleep, he detached himself from her as quietly as possible. His hands shook as he clothed himself, trying to distract himself with the monotony of it all. He stood at the doorway and could not cross the threshold. What would he tell her? How could he face her? Instead he stands like a fool, and waits for her. When she wakes, it’s with a smile. “Was it that bad?” It takes him a few moments to gather the courage to turn, to look at her.

“I’m sorry,” he feels the words tumble from his lips, and it’s as though he is an outsider to the situation. “It’s not… it was fine.” The smile disappears and the hurt blossoms on her face. His stomach flips and the guilt twists inside of him. Fine? Fine? “No… that is insufficient.” She turns back to him now, eyes waiting and expectant. “It was better than anything I could have dreamed.” The smile does not return like he hopes.

“Your markings. They hurt, don’t they?” She says this so calmly, and his heart warms. Even distracted as they were, she still knew. Always, his likes and dislikes, everything that affected him. He had learned to hide everything, but here she was, turning his pages like an open book. This pain ran deeper than the markings however.

“It’s not that. I began to remember. My life before… just flashes,” he says. She sits up instantly, and he can see her reaching for him again. He must not, he cannot, reach back.

“This is too fast, I-I cannot… do this.”

“We can work through this.”

“I’m sorry. I feel like such a fool. All I wanted was to be happy. Just for a little while. Forgive me,” he says, beginning to walk away from her. His words are sincere. He aches for her forgiveness. She is on her feet and after him, this time not waiting for him to reach back, simply taking. She takes his hand, her bottom lip quivering. Her hands shake as she wraps her scarf around his wrist.

“Remember. Do not forget this,” she whispers. Then she lets him go. He runs down her stairs, his steps heavy with regret, and anger at himself. Safe in the walls of his stolen mansion, he rages. At the world, at Danarius, at everything he has let slip away. He adds Hawke to this tally, another mark on his wall of mistakes. He downs bottle after bottle, throwing each one as soon as he is finished. He wants to be drunk, to forget how much he’s just ruined. When sleep takes him, his dreams are blessedly empty.

* * *

 

She comes to him the next day, a bit shyer, a bit raw, but makes no mention of the night before. She busies herself looking after him, scolding him at the state of his mansion. “You leave broken glass everywhere. One day you’ll step on it and I will drag you to see Anders. You know I’m too rubbish at healing,” she says as she sweeps away the shards. He grumbles at her, and wishes she would leave him alone. He should have known better. This is Hawke and her forgiveness comes swift. His head aches and his mouth feels as though it is filled with cotton. When she is satisfied that his feet are in no further danger, she looks at him and bites her lip, filled with nervousness.

“I’ve brought you something,” she says, and presents her gift to him. He takes it from her, careful to ensure their hands do not touch, and looks at it.

“It… It’s a book,” he says, as he turns it over in his hands. He rifles through it, flipping through pages of scribbles that mean nothing to him.

“It’s a subject your familiar with,” she says, closing the book and tapping a word on its cover. “The book is by Shartan, the elf who helped Andraste free the slaves. You know about him right?” She is so close to him, looking up at him with an apprehensive smile. He uses her, leaves her, and she brings him a gift. He steps away slightly and tugs at the red on his wrist.

“A little… It- it’s just… slaves are not permitted to read,” he manages to stutter out. Only around her do his words fail. He is ashamed of this weakness, just as he imagines she is ashamed at him being woefully uneducated. “I’ve… never learned.”

“It’s not too late to learn, Fenris,” she offers.

“Isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder,” he says. It was too late for him to learn how to touch, how to love properly. This is just another thing he would fail her with.

“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. I do appreciate the thought.” A small patch of red blossoms on her cheeks. If only he knew how much of her thoughts were occupied by his presence. She bites her lip again, a habit that leaves her chapped and red. Was this another hiccup? Something she was bringing to him too quickly?

“It’s no trouble Fenris. I would be happy to teach you,” she says with what she hopes is a genuine smile. Maker, shouldn’t she be angry? No, she couldn’t be, not with him. Not with any of them. Her little collection of friends, of lost souls finding refuge with each other. Hawke had decided a long time ago that they were her family. She wanted to keep her family safe, make them happy.

She could see that his choice to leave her was not an easy one. Perhaps he could see how selfish her gift and her offer were? She did not want him to leave Kirkwall, to leave her entirely. She wanted to bind him there, with her, and teaching him to read was the perfect excuse. She didn’t let on that she had known for a long time that Fenris couldn’t read. At first she just didn’t want to upset him. Now though… Maker she felt like a terrible person.

“I’ve always wanted to learn more of Shartan. Perhaps this is my chance,” he says at last. A beaming grin breaks across her face and she resists the urge to touch him. The relief she feels is almost overwhelming. He wasn’t leaving. Not yet. She could keep him just a little bit longer.

* * *

 

He worried every time they went to the gallows. She walks with her head high into the stronghold of Templars, staff strapped to her back. Sometimes he wanted to grab her, to shake her, to make her see that there were some things she could not fight. How could he protect her against an army of Templars? She even helps them, agreeing to hunt for Emeric, to find out if this Gascard DuPuis is murdering women across Kirkwall. His home is empty when they arrive and Hawke casually leafs through notes left on his front table. “Look,” she says, shoving a note under the nose of Anders. He takes it from her and reads, frowning as he does.

“The last shipment? Is he talking about the women?”

“He’s working with someone,” Hawke says, mouth set in a grim line. A small measure of jealousy rears its head as Fenris sees the ease in which they talk. Their conversation is interrupted however, as shades burst up around them. They all fall into practiced forms, years of fighting together having acclimatized them to each other. The steady thunk of Varric’s bolts into the shades, the yelling of the apostate as Anders fires fireballs, and the gentle hum of protective magic that Hawke washes over Fenris as he fights in the forefront.

“At least we know we’re in the right place,” Hawke quips as they finish up.

“Shades are a sure-fire marker,” Varric replies, shaking his head. Hawke grins at him and moves deeper into the house.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Anders grumbles and Fenris is inclined to agree with him. The house is far too quiet, too neat and clean for a supposed blood mage. Hawke opens every door and inspects every room. She casually ransacks each barrel and chest, pulling out whatever she thinks is interesting. She hums as she does so, the great Hawke - an eager magpie. She gives a small gasp of surprise when she opens a door and finds shades waiting, reflexively sending a wave of ice in front of her. Fenris pushes past her and draws the shades away. They make quick work of these as they did the others, barely breaking a threat as the shades disperse into nothingness.

“A letter from Starkhaven. Looking for a missing mage? The person he’s working with maybe?” she says, passing this new note to Anders. He grumbles, and says something to Hawke that Fenris can’t quite hear. She laughs though, and pats his arm. Touching comes so easy to them, and Anders smiles at her. Fenris grips his sword a little harder but says nothing. They go back to searching rooms and Fenris can see Hawke’s face cloud and frown as she inspects some vials.

“Hmm. Blood magic. Someone’s been naughty,” Anders says as he comes up behind her to see what she was looking at. He removes her hands from the vials and squeezes, trying to reassure her. Fenris feels a moment of panic. Did Anders know? Was he so quick to take advantage of her, sway her to his bedroom? No, no, he couldn’t know. Hawke wouldn’t tell him… would she?

Hawke opens a chest and pulls out a woman’s dress, then another, and another. Filled to the brim. “Women’s clothing. Perhaps they were taken off the murdered women,” Fenris says. His hand does not leave his sword. A blood mage, and what seemed to be certain evidence. Walking into danger once again. Hawke drops the dress she was holding in disgust, and brushes her hands hard against her own clothing. She squeezes her hands together in fists, disturbed at the thought of holding a dead woman’s things. Fenris longs to take her hands and reassure her, gently brush his fingers over hers and kiss her palm once again. Such hands could never be sullied.

Another note, this one she reads aloud. “I will see that he is restrained in the future?” Hawke spits out, her brow furrowed.

“Clever. He stopped Emeric from investigating by getting Meredith on his side,” Fenris remarks. Hawke turns to him and nods, and he treasures every glance she throws his way.

“That must twist your smallclothes. A mage manipulating the Templar commander,” Anders says, a satisfying tone oozing out of his words. Fenris snarls at him but says nothing, for Hawke’s sake. She sighs and puts a hand on Anders shoulder.

“I’m not in the mood for arguing. Let’s get this done,” she says. She walks away without waiting for an answer. Hawke always walks first, always in the lead. He tried arguing about this with her once, a warrior should be protecting the front, not a mage. She only laughed and gave an answer that wasn’t quite an answer. She says she’ll be fine and Fenris almost believes her. Each door is a worry. This one, when she opens it, opens to screams.

“Help me! Please! He’s gone mad!” Hawke immediately draws her staff and marches forward angrily. The woman on the floor is sobbing with panic, bent over with her hands on her face. The hiccups come through and her hands cannot keep the tears from falling to the floor. The man raises his hands and attempts to slow Hawke’s advance.

“You’re not… you’re not him! Shit. I… know what this looks like, but I didn’t hurt her!”

“Let her go, and we can talk,” Hawke snarls, thrusting her staff in his face.

“If I let her go, you’ll kill me!” Gascard says, raising his hands. “I don’t know why you’re here, but there’s a killer out there, and I think he’s playing us both! Just… just let me explain!” The Orlesian fop sputters out, trying to convince Hawke to lower her staff. She does, eventually, with a sigh.

“You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll hear what you have to say,” she says, as she leans against her staff. Fenris holds his sword even tighter, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. He loves her for her kindness, for her trust, and will be harsh and mistrust in her place.

“Several years ago, my sister was murdered. The bastard’s now in Kirkwall, killing again. The same way he killed my sister. It starts with a bouquet of white lilies. He sends them to each new victim. Alessa was going to be next.” The woman on the floor spouts a fresh new sob at her name, looking between Hawke and Gascard, the terror plain in her expression.

“I took her so he’d have to come to me. I was finally going to face my sister’s killer, but then you showed up…”

“He’s lying! He hurt me!” Alessa cries out, crawling to Hawke’s side, a hand fisting into Hawke’s cloak.

“I’ve explain this! I need your blood to track you down if he took you. It was for your protection!” Gascard says, moving to confront Alessa. Hawke moves protectively in front of the woman, ensuring Gascard knew it was her he was dealing with, not Alessa. Hawke helped Alessa to her feet, but Alessa was quick to brush off her aid.

“Let go of me!” She cried, before making a mad dash for the door. Again Hawke blocked Gascard as he attempted to run after Alessa.

“She’ll go straight for the city guard. They’ll ruin everything!” Gascard said, but Hawke simply shook her head and stayed in his way.

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t add up. I can’t let you go,” Hawke says. They watch as his face twists in anger.

“No, I’ve worked too hard! It can’t end like this!” He spits out, and reaches for his own staff. As always, Fenris could trust Hawke to make the right decision. Although she was a mage, she did not take blood magic lightly and did not take other mages at face value. She was strong, not like the others. Shades came forth at Gascard’s call and they quickly sprang into action.

“Quickly! Before he gets away!” Hawke said, charging after Gascard. Sometimes he could forget she was a mage, the way she leapt into combat head first. She used her staff to trip Gascard, then pulled up ice so he could no longer run. Although fighting shades of his own, Fenris kept a wary eye on what she was doing. Gascard pushed her back with a bolt of blood magic, her barrier popping up just in time. Fenris pushed through the shades with more urgency, desperate to be at her side.

When Gascard did fall, it was with one of Varric’s bolts through his neck. Hawke breathed heavily, and her hands gently ghosted over herself, checking for any injury. Her eyes brushed over all of them, and she smiled when she saw they were unharmed. “He may have not been the one killing them, but he was still a blood mage… we should get back to Emeric. He’ll want to know that the killer is still out there,” Hawke said. Varric and Anders turned for the door, talking lightly, and Fenris moved to follow them.

He felt a light tug from the scarf on his wrist. Fenris turned to look at Hawke, still holding him without touching him, teeth back at her bottom lip. “You’re alright?” He nodded and she smiled. “Good,” she whispers, before going to join the others.

* * *

 

Emeric dead. The demon who slew him, dead. Hawke tells Moira that Gascard DuPuis could not be Emeric’s killer, as he lies in a grave of his own making. She doesn’t say anything as they walk back to Hightown, but he can see her hands play fitfully with each other and Fenris knows that she is worried. She only smiles at him though, and asks when he’d like to begin his lessons. He gives a reply of tomorrow, but she pauses at his door and asks why not now?

Every night she comes to him, carrying books and a smile. They start slow and she is patient as he stumbles over his letters. He grows frustrated with his progress and he snaps at her often, but she only points him on the path again. One night, when he is especially disheartened, she takes the quill from him and begins to write. When she is finished, she folds it and passes it to him. She tells him to read it in the morning. “No sooner, I’ll know,” she teases.

When she leaves, the paper stays folded. When he wakes, the first thing he does is reach for it. He opens it and is dismayed when he can only understand some of the words. He sees his own name, and Hawke’s, and words like care and team. He folds it and places it above the fireplace. When she comes that night, he throws himself into his learning. He wants to be able to read every word that Hawke gives him.

For weeks they work at it, and the letter stays untouched. He promises himself he will only look at it when he is certain he will be able to read it all. Their days are filled with running tasks for the seneschal, killing blood mages, rescuing lost souls and cleaning the streets of Kirkwall of its violent filth. They search for lost Qunari, and find them dead by the hands of a Templar. They can all see the situation in Kirkwall deteriorating. It wears on Hawke the most, and she does what she can to keep the city safe.

One night, she falls asleep in her chair as Fenris reads to her. Her head slumped down on her chest, hands still folded in her lap. He carries her to his bed and draws a blanket over her. He knows one night will not be able to fix everything, but the dark circles growing under her eyes worry him. He sits on the floor beside her and brushes a dark strand away from her face. It is the first time he has touched her since that night. She has been respectful of his space, always only reaching for the red he keeps on his wrist.

Fenris plays with the scarf now, still haunted by the memory of that night. He sees a small Amell sigil on her belt, and gently detaches it. He places it on his own belt, a renewed dedication to her. He knows that she will understand. He watches over her as she sleeps, and it is nothing like when he used to guard Danarius. Both mages, and yet, nothing alike. When she wakes, he is still on the floor beside the bed, both arms and legs crossed. His head is leaning against the wall and she stifles a giggle when she sees a small amount of drool. He startles himself awake when she rises, like the sun she is, and she tells him she’ll be back tonight.

When she does return, it’s with panic jittering through her. He opens the door at her frenzied knocks and she shoves white lilies into his chest. “My mother,” she cries. He grabs his sword and the lilies lay at his doorstep, forgotten for the moment.


	2. Afterimage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All That Remains, Following the Qun. 
> 
> “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Merrill has her face in her hands, elbows on the table. She’s looking at him and laughing.  
> “You’re in love!” She exclaims, loud enough for the table to hear. Isabela’s still smiling, but Hawke is not.

“I knew you would come.” Those words seem almost cruel. Hawke holds the mockery of her mother, biting her lip hard enough to break skin. Yes, she had come, but she had come too late. She can feel the wellspring of tears forming, but holds them at bay to smile at her mother.

“Don’t move, Mother. We’ll find a way to…” she stumbles over her own words. A way to do what? Take her apart and put her back together again? Somehow though, right? Her head turned to look at Anders, her eyes pleading with him.

“There’s nothing I can do. His magic was keeping her alive,” he tells her, before covering his face with a hand. Not even the healer can stomach what Leandra has become. Maybe, Hawke thinks, if she had put more effort into learning healing, she could do something… anything. Leandra smiles at her daughter.

“Shh. Don’t fret, darling. That man would have kept me trapped here. But now… I’m free.” Death, the ultimate freedom. This twists in Fenris’s gut. Once Anders had asked him if he had ever thought about killing himself. He had brushed off the question. _To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker_. In truth, he had thought about it every day. That was at least a choice he could make. The only choice really. Leandra did not make this choice.

“I get to see Bethany again… and your father. But you’ll be here alone.”

“I’ll be fine, Mother.”

“My little girl has become so strong. I love you. You’ve always made me so proud.”

“Mother?” Hawke sounds so small then, and her shoulders begin to shake. Her bottom lip quivers but she does not cry. She does not let go of the body, but holds it closer. _I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine_. Did the Maker think it a sin to lie to someone on their death bed? She tries to convince herself it’s the truth. Aveline puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her she’ll fetch more of the guard. They’ll take Leandra’s body to a safe place.

Anders manages to get Hawke on her feet, but she wavers there, unsteady. She watches as the body is covered and taken away. Sebastian says he’ll pray to the Maker for her mother’s soul. She wonders if the Maker cares anymore. They turn to leave and she follows blindly, reaching for the only bit of color she can see. She holds onto the scarf, touching without touching, and it is enough. Fenris walks at her speed and guides her back home. The whole way, she does not let go.

Fenris paces in his mansion after Aveline sends them all away. Too much crowding in her space, too overwhelming for her, Aveline had said. She would help Hawke change, then put her to bed. He turns the letter she wrote over and over in his hands. Eventually, he sits on his bed and flips it open, eyes scanning the words over and over again. He still cannot read it all, Hawke having used words she knew he had not conquered yet. His eyes linger on the last sentence. This one is easy. _Come find me when you need me_.

He carries the letter with him when he goes to her home. Aveline opens the door for him, and with a sigh, lets him inside. It is plain that Aveline knows what happened between them. Hawke and Aveline spent time together often, a friendship forged by shared experiences. He could at least trust that the captain would keep things to herself.

“I don’t know what to say, but, I am here.” The words startle her, having not noticed him enter her room. For a moment, Hawke’s face darkens and he worries that she will send him away. _I don’t need you_. Instead, she smiles. She is sitting at the head of her bed, legs crossed and shoulders hunched. She pats the spot on the bed in front of her, an open invitation if he wants to take it.

“Just say something, anything.” He stands beside her and struggles to find something to say that would make her feel any better.

“It- they say… death is only a journey. Does that help?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. The only thing he gives her is another reminder that her mother is gone and out of reach. He sits beside her before she can rescind her invitation. She shrugs and sighs, tucking hair behind her ear.

“She blamed me you know. For Bethany’s death. For Carver being a Grey Warden,” she said as she leaned back against the headboard.  She looks at him like she expects him to say something but he does not interrupt her. “I wondered how she could be so cruel. I already blamed myself, and I wished… I hoped, that she wouldn’t blame me too. Mothers aren’t supposed to get mad at you like that, right?” She catches herself, realizing that Fenris wouldn’t know. _Maker_ , she sighs under her breath and apologizes.

“Now though… I am mad. Furious. I can’t even cry, Fenris. It’s so much easier being angry than upset. I wish I could scream at her,” she says, her knees pulling up to her chest. She hugs her legs and rests her chin on her knees. She keeps her eyes firmly on her own feet, unable to bear looking at him. He wants to tell her that she can scream at him, that he could take it. Instead he undoes the clasps on one of his gauntlets and lets it fall to the floor. He reaches out, and holds it just above her ankle. _I am yours_. When his hand finally lands, skin touching skin, he makes small circles with his thumb on her leg. She looks at him then and the tears begin to fall. Not for her mother, but for them. 

* * *

 

Hawke laughs, and buys a round for the table. She leans into Isabela’s warm embrace and tells her that she has the Maker’s bosom. “I know sweet thing, I know,” the pirate winks and pushes another mug at Hawke. She downs it just as quickly as she did with the others, wiping the foam off her face with her arm as soon as she is finished.

“You’ll have a headache tomorrow,” Anders warns her, but she only laughs and shrugs. Fenris watches her carefully. Her visits to the Hanged Man have become more frequent, not just for socializing, but for drinking. He understands – all the broken wine bottles are proof of that. This isn’t Hawke though. Hawke watches from the outside and walks the more inebriated one’s home. Lately, he’s had to practically carry her back to Hightown. He’s brought out of his thoughts by Merrill giggling in his ear.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Merrill has her face in her hands, elbows on the table. She’s looking at him and _laughing_.

“You’re in love!” She exclaims, loud enough for the table to hear. Isabela’s still smiling, but Hawke is not.

“I am not,” he says, harsher than he means to. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the knife he left in Hawke, the one he put inside her when he left, twist. Hurt blossoms, the corners of her mouth curve downward. Then it is gone, as quick as it appeared. She laughs with Isabela once again, and swats her hand away when Isabela tries to pinch her cheek.

“Every time she looks away, you stare at Hawke with those sad puppy eyes.”

“There are no puppy eyes.” Was he really so easy to read? Or was it only when it concerned Hawke did he fail completely.

“It’s all right, you know. Even you can be happy once in a while. It won’t kill you. But your face might crack if you smile, so be careful.” He glowers at the witch and ends the conversation with a stare. Varric passes out the cards and begins taking bets. Hawke rummages through her pockets and throws down whatever she has onto the table. Two silver, a button and a single white petal. No one mentions it, but Fenris can see the deliberate way Varric places his gold, so that it is out of sight.

“You do know the elf is covered in spikes, like an angsty porcupine? He might have some… issues.”

“I know you mean well, Varric. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

“I certainly hope so.” 

* * *

 

Fenris cannot tell if Hawke approves or disapproves of the viscount’s sons actions. The viscount begs her to retrieve Saemus from the Qunari, concern hidden under words about political maneuvering. Hawke smiles, takes his hand and reassures him that she will do everything she can. She isn’t afraid of the Arishok and skips greetings to simply ask where Saemus is. The Arishok scoffs at her and tells her that Kirkwall lacks purpose. Hawke avoids a circular argument and simply presses the issue. The Arishok tells her that Saemus was to meet his father at the Chantry. Fenris sees her stiffen at this, lightly thanks the Arishok, and turns to leave with steel on her face.

“This feels wrong. Everything about it. I really, really do not like this,” she says, as she marches them straight to the Chantry. It is quiet when they arrive, and far too empty. She runs up the steps to the altar two at a time, to find Saemus kneeling near the podium. She kneels, and touches his shoulder. The spell is broken and his body collapses in a heap. She recoils then, and squeezes her hands into fists. Just as she had done in Gascard’s mansion. She steps back, her hands now pressing against her temples. All she can think about is the Viscount, losing his only son. His only family. Just like she had lost hers.

“Serah Hawke, look at what you have done.” Hawke spins wildly, looking for the voice. She narrows in on Petrice and the anger cascades across her face. Fenris moves to draw his sword, but Sebastian stops him with a hand.

“Violence in such a holy place is unacceptable,” Sebastian says, as much to Fenris as to Petrice. A Templar stands beside Petrice, and more radicals come to crowd around her. It feels like a bad dream.

“To pounce upon the viscount’s son, a repentant convert, in the Chantry itself? A crime with no excuse,” Petrice continues, voice dripping with malice. “Your Qunari masters will finally answer,” she snarls.

“You’ve been a headache, but to outright kill someone? That’s new for you,” Hawke says, shaking with barely contained anger. Isabela stands beside her, and places a calming hand on the small of her back. Hawke lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and keeps her magic close to the surface.

“He deliberately denied the Maker! How many would follow if he went unpunished? And yet, even this sympathizer will inspire vengeance when his brutal murder is exposed.”

“You won’t get the Qunari ousted, you’ll get a slaughter. On both sides.”

“To die untested would be the real crime. People need the opportunity to defend faith. Starting with you,” Petrice says, as she turns to her followers and raises her arms. “Earn your reward in this life and next! These heretics must die!” _Fools, fools, misguided fools_! Hawke thinks as barely armed townsfolk rush toward them. She tries to make the sting of her magic gentle, but sadly resigns herself to killing them as they spare her no quarter.

It’s far too easy to kill them. They fall like leaves. The silence hits her from behind and she falls to her knees, winded. The Templar advances as she struggles to pull breath into her lungs. She reaches out and tries to call for aid, but all she accomplishes is pathetic wheezing. Fenris knows the touch of her magic. In battle, it is like a gentle hand resting on the back of his neck. A calming, protective presence. When it is snatched away suddenly, it’s like cold water has been dumped over him. He races towards her, and meets the blade of the Templar with his own. It’s easy to call on the anger, the mental outcry at someone having attacked her. He reaches through the Templar’s armor like its paper and plucks out his heart.

“Do you see, Your Grace? Traitors attacking the very core of the Chantry! They defile with every step!” Sebastian extends a hand and helps Hawke to her feet. She smiles at him and thanks him, squaring her shoulders. The sudden absence of magic was always like a limb had been cut off. She tried to ignore the feeling, and focus on the task at hand. Fenris hovers close to her and she tugs her fingers on the scarf once, twice, gratefully.

“There is death in every corner, young mother. It is as you predicted. All too well.” Ah, good, Elthina sees what a snake Petrice is. Hawke is glad she won’t have to yell at the grand cleric. She especially thinks Sebastian wouldn’t be too appreciative of that.

“She’s on to you, Petrice. Quick, lie harder,” Hawke says with a smug smile.

“Don’t you spout your Qunari filth. This is a hand of the Divine,” Petrice snarls.

“I have ears, Mother Petrice. The Maker would have me use them,” Elthina says, then turns to Hawke and waits expectantly. 

“Viscount Dumar’s son is dead, killed here in your name.”

“I’m sure my name won’t like that. Petrice?”

“Saemus Dumar was a Qunari convert! He came here to repent and was murdered!” It is plain to see that whatever cards Petrice thought she was holding were falling quickly. To see a cruel woman getting her due was enough to lift Hawke’s spirits.

“Love or hate the Qunari, a blind nug could see she took this too far,” Hawke says, crossing her arms. 

“No price is too much when we speak of eternity!” Petrice spits out the words and stamps her feet like a petulant child.

“Eternity is long enough that we need not rush to meet it,” Elthina says, pinching her brow and sighing.

“They deny the Maker!”

“And you diminish Him, even as you claim His side. Andraste did not volunteer for the flame.” It’s the first time Hawke sees the calm veneer of Elthina give way to anger.

“Serah Hawke, you act on behalf of the viscount?” Elthina asks her, and Hawke nods in reply. As happy as she was to see Petrice throw a downright tantrum, her mood turns as she remembers the viscount. And Saemus, poor, dead, Saemus.

“The young mother has erred in her judgment. A court will decide her fate. The Chantry respects the law, and so must she.”

“Grand Cleric?” Ah, turning from angry child to a sad one. “Grand Cleric!” Petrice calls after the retreating figure of Elthina. Hawke moves to grab Petrice, ready to drag her to Aveline. She feels the wind of an arrow whisk by her, and finds its place in Petrice’s chest. The mother falls to her feet slowly, and touches the arrow gingerly. She looks at Hawke, confused and wincing in pain. The next arrow finds her head, in the same place where one would brand the mark of tranquility.

“We protect those of the Qun. We do not abandon our own.” The Qunari turns and leaves, and Elthina doesn’t even seem surprised.

“Please, send for Viscount Dumar,” she says, and then retreats to her quarters.  

* * *

 

They regroup at the Hanged Man, and Hawke traces the rim of her mug with her finger. The look on Dumar’s face as he held the now empty body of his son lingered with her. She’d seen that face before, when her mother held Bethany. If Quentin had taken her and not Leandra, would Leandra have made that face for her? She had encouraged Dumar to stay strong, the Qunari threat still remaining. Did she even have the right to tell him that? What place was it of hers?

“I can’t imagine what Hawke sees in you.” Hawke wants to groan and crawl under the table. They can’t even stow it for one night. Instead, she quits circling her ale and begins to down it. It helps chase away the sting of Fenris’s words.

“It is done. Leave it be.” Isabela and Merrill are talking excitedly with one another, not listening to any other conversation. Isabela is sultry and confident, Merrill blushing when she catches on to the double entendre. Isabela’s hands linger on Merrill’s arm, and up to her shoulder, until she is holding the dalish completely. Aveline scolds them, and reminds Isabela that she’s in a public place. It only makes Isabela bolder.  

“Well, good. I always knew she had some sense.” Fenris resists the urge to punch the abomination. If he were a better person, he would rage, tell Anders that he could not have Hawke because they belonged to each other. _I am yours_. If he said that, maybe Hawke would smile. A real smile, not the ghosts she’s been hiding behind lately.

“Do not make light of this. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he says instead, his words stiff, feeling like cinders on his tongue. When Sebastian enters, he finds a seat beside Fenris, separating him from Anders. It stops their argument in its tracks. Whether he did it on purpose or not, Fenris feels a rush of gratitude towards the priest. Hawke is talking to Aveline, filling her in on the events of the day. He isn’t sure if Hawke heard, but his suspicions are confirmed later when she will not look him in the eye.  He leaves her at the doorstep of the Amell estate and she mumbles something about having to continue his lessons soon. They had ceased abruptly with Leandra’s death and he hadn’t the courage to seek her out after that night. How could he explain that it was not the reading that mattered but the stolen moments spent with her?  

* * *

 

“Anders, that girl is a mage. We rescued her from being made tranquil,” Hawke steps in front of the glowing apostate, her hands raised and her voice soothing. The mage girl cowers behind her, away from the man she can only see as a demon.

“She is theirs. I can feel their hold on her.”

“She’s the reason you’re fighting Anders,” Hawke pleads, stepping even closer. “Don’t turn on her now.” Fenris’s knuckles are white as he grips his sword. He’d like nothing more than to step between them and cut the abomination down before he turns against Hawke. She has more faith in Anders than he could ever fathom.

“Please, messere,” the girl cries, and drops to her knees behind Hawke. Anders moves as though to strike and Hawke makes sure the girl is safely behind her. Then she squeezes her eyes closed and waits. With a resounding boom and flash of blue, the light fades to reveal Anders, free of the cracks of Justice.

“Maker no,” he moans and drops to his knees in front of Hawke. The girl sees this as her chance and flees. Anders has his hands on Hawke’s legs, his head pressing into her thigh. Hawke breaths out, and lets a reassuring hand rest on his head. “I almost… if you weren’t here… I-I… need to get out of here.” With a gasp of breath, he detangles himself from Hawke’s embrace. He flees then, and leaves Hawke to press her face into her hands.

“Why do they always leave?” she moans, then moves to follow him. He’s sure she doesn’t mean it, but her words hurt Fenris anyway. He is included in the category of those who leave her and it hurts. _But you’ll be here alone_. He can’t help but hear the echo of Leandra’s words in his mind. She died believing that her daughter had no one to call her own. But… _I am yours_. And she doesn’t know.

She goes to speak with Anders alone, and reassures them that of course she’ll make it to their game of Wicked Grace. She feigns hurt that Varric could ever doubt her. “Someone has to take all your gold from you,” she says, then waves them away.  

* * *

 

Isabela is the next one to leave her. Hawke stands over the body of Wall-Eyed Sam and crumples the letter in her hand. “She says she’s sorry she lied to me. That’s something at least,” she turns to them and smiles. Merrill begs Hawke to go after her, to go look for her. Hawke only looks around at the growing dark and shakes her head sadly. Instead they go to the Qunari compound to meet Aveline and the guards she’s assembled.

“I cannot leave without the relic, and I cannot stay and remain blind to this dysfunction. There is only one solution,” the Arishok says and although Aveline is trying to talk him down, Hawke is laying down the battle lines in her head. The Arishok gives the word and running is all they can do. They make their retreat and Aveline is screaming Hawke’s name. “I’ll rally the guardsmen. I suggest heading to your estate in Hightown. Be careful,” Aveline says, a hand on Hawke’s shoulder.

“I don’t suppose they’d stop if we asked nicely,” Merrill says, looking small and nervous and she holds onto her staff.

“No Daisy, I don’t think they will,” Varric sighs, taking Bianca from her holster. Fenris merely looks at Hawke and nods.

“I remain at your side,” he tells her. She gives him a smile and another small tug at his wrist. Then her face hardens and she takes the staff from her back.

“Let’s go.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me at http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/  
> Forward unto Demands of the Qun & Legacy.  
> Cheers :)


	3. And We Got Older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demands of the Qun, Legacy (Part 1) 
> 
> “Oh, good,” she says. “You aren’t leaving?”  
> “No, Hawke.”  
> “Oh, good,” she says again, with a small sigh. “I don’t want you to leave. Please don’t leave me,” her face twists and she starts to cry, her eyes flickering open. Her blue oceans are drowning in the water of her own making, clouded and dazed. Still, she looks at only him. “Fenris, it hurts,” she whimpers and cries, and she begins to shake.

Viscount Dumar’s head bounced down the steps of the throne room, his crown rolling off and landing at Hawke’s feet. “Shanedan, Hawke. I expected you. Marass toh ebra-shok. You alone are basalit-an. This is what respect looks like, bas! Some of you will never earn it.” Well, Hawke certainly didn’t feel respected. “So tell me, Hawke. You know I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?”

“I believe I can answer that,” Isabela says, strolling into the throne room with the book under her arm. Hawke hears Merrill chatter excitedly and give Isabela a small wave. Hawke had forgiven Isabela, of course, for all of it. For stealing the tome, starting this conflict, and for leaving. She still wanted to kick her a little bit though. Isabela stops beside her, and Hawke can see the sorry in her eyes. She smiles at Isabela and that seems to give her more confidence to face the Arishok. She holds the tome out towards him.

“I’m sure you’ll find it’s mostly undamaged.”

“The Tome of Koslun,” the Arishok breathes as he takes it from her.

“It took me a while to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere. You know how it is.”

“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” Hawke says and she can see the small frown appear on Isabela’s face.

“This is your damned influence, Hawke. I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It’s pathetic.” Hawke gives a small laugh and takes Isabela’s hand and squeezes it.

“The relic is reclaimed. I am now free to return to Par Vollen – with the thief,” the Arishok states, his voice booming across the room. Hawke’s grip on Isabela’s hand tightens.

“What?” Isabela’s voice sounds flat, comprehension not yet dawning on her.

“You thought you could strand them here for four years without consequence?” Fenris says. He’s angry and he knows that Hawke will scold him later for it. But for now, Hawke stands in front of the Arishok, ready to protect Isabela. And that is why he is angry. Isabela has thrown her into another dangerous situation.

“She stole the Tome of Koslun. She must return with us.” The Arishok’s axe comes to rest lightly on his shoulder. _Maker_ , Hawke thinks, _he swings it around like a toy_.

“You have your relic. Isabela stays with us,” Hawke says, a warning in her tone.

“I’m so glad you came back, Isabela! Don’t worry, everything will be fine, now,” Merrill says, beaming at Isabela and moving to stand beside her. Fenris wants to shake the witch and yell that no, everything will not be fine. He knows that the Qunari will not simply leave because Hawke asks it of them.

“You leave me no choice. I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death, with her as the prize,” as the Arishok speaks, he unsheathes his sword and holds it in his free hand.

“No! If you’re going to duel anyone, duel me!” Isabela yells, detaching herself from Hawke’s grip and moving to stand in front of her.

“You are not basalit-an. You are unworthy.” Hawke puts a hand on Isabela’s shoulder and guides her back with a sigh. Fenris already knows the decision Hawke has made. Every time, no matter the cost, she protects them. He wants to yell that the Arishok is right, Isabela is unworthy! He wants to save her from this fight that Hawke has already resigned to take.

“I accept your challenge.”

“Meravas! So shall it be!” The onlookers are moved to the balconies, where they are out of the way of the fight, and where they can see every bloody detail. Hawke walks to the end of the room and turns, her staff feeling heavier than usual in her hands. She watches as the Arishok swings both his weapons with ease and feels her palms go clammy. The word is given, and she does not hesitate.

She fires off a few quick bolts with her staff, but the Arishok shrugs them off as though they are nothing. He charges at her and she barely dives out of the way. She spreads ice out in front of her, slowing the Arishok’s approach. She scrambles back as he recovers, laying down bolt after bolt. She pulls down a Fist of The Maker, but the horned beast only stumbles and then he is moving again. She wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, weaving around the pillars in the throne room, trying to outrun the Arishok’s reach. He charges and slices without mercy and Hawke tries to do the same, but all she accomplishes is a dwindling mana pool.

Varric stands beside Fenris, both not saying anything but filled with worry. Merrill does not share this silence and the fight is punctured with Merrill’s small cries of worry and shouted words of encouragement. Isabela is pale, and hiding behind Merrill. Fenris tries to observe impartially. The Arishok is an accomplished warrior, his armor imbued with runes that soften the blow of magic. He is larger, stronger, more practiced than Hawke. Fenris knows that Hawke is tiring, her footsteps still light, but the magic she casts is weaker now. This is Hawke though, and they have faced much together. She will find a way. He tries to convince himself of this, and knows that if he throws himself at the Arishok, he dooms them all. He would do it, in an instant, if it would save Hawke. He knows it will not.

“She has this, she’s tricky,” Varric mumbles, as though he’s trying to convince himself. Merrill agrees with him, and tells Isabela again that everything will be fine. The pirate does not smile, does not nod, and merely watches the fight. Fenris feels his anger at her waning, as he can see the guilt tearing at her. His attention is wrenched back to the fight as he hears Hawke scream.

The Arishok has grown bored of her running, and throws his axe at her legs. She falls to the floor as pain flares throughout her. The axe has embedded itself in her left leg, and all she can do is throw a small amount of poor healing at it. The Arishok stands above her. “Panahedan, Hawke,” the Arishok says, then pierces her middle with his sword. She stares it in disbelief, the staff falling from her hands. She feels herself being lifted, the Arishok impaling her further as he holds her above his head.

Merrill is screaming and Isabela is crying with her. Varric stumbles back to sit on one of the steps, his head in his hand. Fenris does not move. He does not make a sound. He wants to collapse to the ground, beat his fists against the floor and scream everything he’s ever wanted to tell her. _I am yours_. He has failed her again.

The blood dribbles from her mouth and falls onto the Arishok’s cheek. Her hand reaches out, a fingertip smearing it across his face. That’s when the fire starts, the last of everything she has in reserve, to bury the Arishok’s face in flames. This close, his runes can do nothing. He opens his mouth to scream, and she pours the flames down his throat. She cooks him from the inside out. The Arishok falls, and she is falling with him. The other Qunari nod at each other and leave the hall without a word.

It is then the world rushes back and Fenris is racing to Hawke’s side, falling to his knees and helps her sit up, holding her in his arms. He nearly crushes her in his embrace, his forehead coming to rest against hers. He feels a tug on his wrist, and opens his eyes to see Hawke’s fingers on the scarf, a smile on her face. “I won,” she says weakly, before her hand drops back to her side. Fenris guffaws and reaches out to touch the sword sticking through her middle.

“D-don’t remove it. Make it worse,” Hawke winces, her eyes closing. Fenris whips his head around and his eyes find Merrill.

“Witch! Use your magic!” He yells at her, finding it easier to bark commands and be angry rather than face what is in front of him.

“I-I don’t know any healing!” Merrill cries, her hands covering her mouth as she cries.

“Did they leave?” Hawke asks him, her voice paltry and weak. He wants to tell her to be quiet, to conserve her strength but _Maker_ it’s so good to hear her voice right now. Her eyes are still closed, her head resting on his shoulder. She feels so small in his arms, a fragile bird that has fallen from its nest and forgotten to fly.

“Yes Hawke,” he chokes out and that brings a small smile to her lips.

“Oh, good,” she says. “You aren’t leaving?”

“No, Hawke.”

“Oh, good,” she says again, with a small sigh. “I don’t want you to leave. Please don’t leave me,” her face twists and she starts to cry, her eyes flickering open. Her blue oceans are drowning in the water of her own making, clouded and dazed. Still, she looks at only him. “Fenris, it hurts,” she whimpers and cries, and she begins to shake. His grip on her tightens and he holds her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The doors to the throne room open, and the Templars begin to pour in, followed by Meredith and Orsino. “Is it over?” Meredith asks, her gaze going from the Viscount’s head, to the charred corpse of the Arishok, and finally, to Hawke. Orsino sees her at the same time Meredith does, and rushes to Hawke’s side. Light pours from his hands and into Hawke. He tries to take her from Fenris but he only snarls at the enchanter.

“She told me not to leave.” Orsino sighs but does not argue, and more mages crowd to his side. The buzz of magic swirls around him and it feels too loud in his head. His markings flare with pain, the amount of magic overwhelming him. He does not let her go. They pull the sword from her, it taking two of them to find the strength to remove it. She screams as they do, and her arm finds a way to grasp at his shoulder, at his neck. They tell him they need to move her, but he will not let them touch her. Instead, he snakes a hand under her legs and carries her himself. She begs him not to go. He stays. _I am yours_.

* * *

 

“Maker, Varric, you’re terrible. That’s not how it happened at all!” she laughs, and puts a hand over her chest. “Stop making me laugh, it fucking hurts!” she’s still laughing though, and the dwarf throws his hands up in defeat.

“More and more people are swearing you snapped his neck with your bare hands. I didn’t even have to do anything. You’re the bloody Champion of Kirkwall now. People are going to make shit up,” Varric says, smiling at her as she rests in the safety of her own bed. It’s been a few weeks since the fight, and the color is just starting to return to her cheeks.

Anders has been in and out of the Amell estate frequently. Hawke knows he feels guilty for not being there, even though she was the only who told him to take some time for himself after what she’s now calling, the ‘incident’. Justice has thankfully not made an appearance since. He fusses over her and she fusses back, bored of being caged in her own home.

Merrill visits her and tells her that Isabela has left, again. Hawke only sighs, then smiles and pats Merrill’s hand to reassure her. Hawke is confident that Isabela will return, and tells Merrill not to worry. Hawke worries enough for all of them. Isabela had visited her once, after everything had quieted, when she thought Hawke was sleeping. She says she’s sorry and Maker, she did not mean for this to happen. Hawke understands and knows that time will soothe the guilt, more than she ever could.

She has a constant string of visitors during the day, and eventually she picks out the pattern. Varric always comes at the beginning of the week, and fills her in on all the exciting things she’s missed. Anders comes every afternoon, to check on her and to grab some of the food that Bodahn’s made. Aveline and Donnic come during the middle of the week and Aveline assures her that there’s nothing for Hawke to do except rest and get better. Sebastian and Merrill come during the end of the week, and Hawke is getting tired of being told that there’s so many people praying for her recovery.

She sees Carver a few times, in the beginning. He tells her upfront that he cannot stay. The Grey Wardens need him. She asks him if he knows what happened to Mother. He says he got her letter and that’s that. He says he’s sorry. She says she’s proud of him. He leaves then, off to somewhere he cannot tell her, but promises he’ll write. She understands if he doesn’t.

Fenris shows up every night, a book in his hands. He pulls the chair close to her bed and begins to read, picking up where they left the night before. He feels foolish, stumbling over simple words, but Hawke only smiles and does not interrupt. Sometimes, he shoves the book towards her and points to a word, and she tells him what it is. Besides that, they don’t talk. Most of the time, she is awake when he leaves. She smiles and thanks him, and says she’ll hope she sees him tomorrow. Sometimes, she cannot fight it and falls asleep. He wraps the blankets around her and does not disturb her.

He is there when they come for her. He hears a shout at the door, Bodahn yelling, and he is on his feet in an instant. He reaches for a sword that isn’t there and regrets not bringing it with him. How could he be so foolish to think that they were safe? The first dwarf kicks open the door, and Fenris is on him immediately, markings active and mad. He hears Hawke say something behind him and he wants to tell her to stay, but she’s arcing lightning between the dwarves before he can get the words out. It has been so long since he last felt Hawke’s magic and it feels so _warm_. There are a few cracks at the edges, made by the crack in her chest.

Aveline joins them, a breathless Bodahn behind her, face red from running. She and her guards make quick work of the remaining Carta, and Aveline practically throws Hawke back into bed. Hawke pouts, but does not fight it. Aveline orders her to stay and, “Fenris, for the love of Andraste, do not let her do anything.” She tells him she and her guards will look into it, with Varric’s help. Surely, between them, they’ll find out who and why.

* * *

 

“I’ve been in that bed for months, and it’s been weeks since the attack. I need to do something,” Hawke says as she stretches to crack her back. Fenris doubts the middle of a desert was the best place to start.

“Carta dwarves aren’t usually stupid. I don’t know why they’d attack you. I hope you have a plan that’s more than ‘do something’. I found their hideout, but my sources couldn’t tell me anything else. It’s all very… strange,” Varric says, scratching his beard and looking at Hawke.

“I’m sure this is just all a misunderstanding. Later we’ll all have tea and we’ll laugh,” she says, shrugging. Aveline and Fenris groan in unison. They fight their way through waves of carta dwarves, and the beasts that they have bound. They scream at Hawke about her father, and about her blood. She fights with seeming ease, but Fenris notes the slight limp on her wounded leg. They have cleared the Qunari from Kirkwall, and things have settled in the wake of Hawke being pronounced Champion, but here they are again, in the thick of things.

“How is it you get into these situations so often?” Fenris asks her, as she pats down a fallen dwarf for any baubles.

“What do you mean?” she asks, looking up at him innocently. She relieves the dead dwarf of a pouch of coin and shoves it into her many pockets gleefully.

“Hmm. Attacked by dwarves, approached by strangers, stumbling upon ancient riddles… madness.” Hawke throws back her head and laughs as she stands, using her staff for support.

“It’s a gift.”

“Well _I_ think you should return it,” he says, returning her laughter with his own. They go down deeper into the tunnels and kill dwarves that tell her that using her blood will free their master. She loots them all cheerfully, without a care. Until she pulls a glowing staff from one of them. She lets out a shocked yell, and the light from the staff bathes over her.

“What is this? I can feel it… inside me,” the light fades and she puts the pieces of the puzzle together. “A key… This is going to take me to Corypheus.” They wind deeper down into what they now realize is a Grey Warden keep. More dwarves… but that suddenly shifts to darkspawn. Fenris watches as Hawke freezes up when she sees them, terror plain in her face. These are the creatures that killed her sister and took her brother from her. A gunlock charges at her, and Fenris throws himself in its path.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Varric punctuates each expletive with a bolt from Bianca.

“Hawke!” Fenris says, shaking her shoulders. Her eyes turn from the darkspawn, to him. The dazed look fades, and finally, she begins casting her magic. It goes faster after that, and they take a moment to breathe. Hawke apologizes, and shuffles her feet with embarrassment.

“Thank you, Fenris,” she says, walking to stand close beside him.

“It needed to be done,” he answers her simply.

“So, Fenris… we, uh… we haven’t really spoken since…”

“You wish do this here? In front of everyone?” Her face turns red and she looks away from him.

“Not my first choice, no.”

Fenris clears his throat, “I am grateful you asked me to come along, Hawke.” He is, truly. After she was attacked, he had resolved to see the matter through. If she had left him behind, he would have worried that the task would not have been taken to completion. At least, this way, he could be sure that all those who threatened her were dead.

“Is there a reason I wouldn’t?” She leans her forehead against her staff and smiles at him.

“I just… am pleased. To see you. That’s all.”

“Smooth,” Varric says and even Aveline is laughing at him.

“I thought I was bad at it,” she says.

“We should move on,” Fenris says and marches ahead. Hawke’s chuckle follows him and they continue through the fortress. Hawke gasps when she hears her father’s voice, and her eyes follow the shadow of his form. _My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base_. She knows those words. They were taught and repeated to her when she gained her magic. The Grey Warden they encountered explains that Malcolm’s magic was used to help seal away the demons in this place. In return, the Grey Warden’s helped Malcolm run away with Leandra and their unborn child.

“He would have been so proud of us… of Bethany. He raised us to be good,” Hawke says to no one in particular. She makes a mental note to send a letter to Carver the instant she returns to the estate.

“He feels the seals weaken. He knows you are close. You must be ready…” Larius says, as the fortress shakes when they destroy another seal. “What’s that? Who? No… no. They’re here. The Wardens. They listen to Corypheus. They want to bring him the light. Stop them. You must stop them.” Hawke begins to protest as Larius slips away, but is interrupted by the arrival of Janeka and her crew of Wardens. She recognizes Hawke instantly, and pegs her as the child of Malcolm. She lets slip that she sent the Carta after Hawke and Fenris sees her back stiffen.

“Corypheus may be as great a threat as the next Blight. We can’t risk freeing him,” Hawke says, denying Janeka’s offer. Janeka’s brow furrows and tells them that they will free Corypheus, with or without Hawke’s help. No longer interested in trying to sway Hawke, she sends more Carta to kill them. They navigate through her dwarves and the traps of the prison itself. When they face Janeka again, she attempts to turn Hawke against Larius, telling her of how the former Warden-Commander had threatened Leandra in order to manipulate Malcolm. The fury that Hawke has is plain to see, but reason trumps emotion. Corypheus must not be free.

“I just need your blood,” Janeka snarls, and the Grey Wardens move to attack. Janeka hides behind a barrier as she sends the other Wardens to their deaths. When her barrier finally falls, Hawke does not attack with magic, but simply bashes her in the face with the staff-key. Larius finishes her himself, a sword through her chest.

Fenris is wary as the dagger pierces Hawke’s palm. This feels too much like blood magic. A drop falls onto the seal, and it lights up. Energy swarms to its middle and Hawke places the key. The seal gives birth to a twisted form, not darkspawn but not human either. “Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty? You! Serve you at the temple of Dumat? Bring me hence! I must speak with the first acolyte!” The Old Gods. The Imperium. A Tevinter Magister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves, thank you so much for reading <3  
> As always, happy to chat at http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/
> 
> Next, we finish up Legacy and move to Act 3!


	4. All the Trees of the Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legacy (Part 2), Alone
> 
> “Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you. If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

“Of course you’d get mixed up in something to do with the bloody first darkspawn,” Varric yells as they weave through summoned fonts of flame and lightning. “And of course you’d drag me along into this shit!” Hawke chuckles as she leaps over the rock that shoots up in front of them.

“A gift Varric, I told you!” She shouts, pulling Aveline down by her scarf as lighning arcs overhead. They race to the next containment pillar, and with a wave of her hand, Hawke disables it. They cower behind the cover of the pillars as the fire rotates past. Hawke is standing with Aveline on one side, Varric and Fenris on the other. Fenris hears Hawke laugh as Aveline grumbles about their predicament. They methodically circle the room, disabling all the pillars. It is only then that Corypheus moves to attack them himself.

The bolts Varric fires find their home in the creatures flesh, but he only plucks them out as though they are toothpicks. Corypheus claws at Aveline’s shield, and casually waves away Hawke’s fireballs. The creature finally screams when Fenris sweeps from behind to strike at the creature. His sword slices through flesh and muscle, spewing forth black blood. Fenris can feel the foul magic emanating from it. It washes over him in a dark embrace, like being swallowed up by tar. Corypheus turns his sights to him and focuses his magic at him. Fenris’s markings forcibly activate, and he is brought to his knees.

Hawke steps in front of him and throws up her arms, a glow on her fists. She moves as though she is pulling something, and Corypheus stumbles to his feet. A feeling not unlike a cool wind washes over him and he realizes that Hawke has dispelled the creature’s magic. He feels the power in his markings ebb away, and the pain begins to fade. She reaches out a hand and pulls Fenris to his feet. It is in these moments where anyone can see exactly why she is their leader. Able to pinpoint any problem, any weakness, her teammates have and correct it. Not just for the sake of the fight, but to protect them utterly. Never on her watch would any be left on their own.

A determined frown on her brow, she purses her lips and attacks, swallowing the creature in ice. Aveline bashes into it, and they watch as it falls and shatters, a million crystal pieces dancing across the floor of the fortress. Hawke turns to Fenris, tugs on the scarf and smiles. “You’re not hurt?” He shakes his head no. The smile turns to a grin and she tugs on the scarf once more before turning.

“You did well, Hawke. More that the Grey Wardens of old were able to accomplish,” Larius’s voice is clearer now, and stronger. No longer does the tainted man stumble over his words, nor hobble like an old man. “I will tell the Warden-Commander of your service here.” Hawke apologizes for the deaths of Janeka and the other Wardens, but Larius waves off her concerns.

“The prison stands no more. My gratitude you have, for my freedom.” Larius leaves them then, and Hawke awkwardly scratches the back of her neck. The fight is over, and yet she still feels uneasy. She leans heavily on her staff and sighs, watching until he is out of sight. She looks over her crew, and a wave of magic settles through them. It is soft and kind, like a lover’s touch. He feels the last of his pain disappear, and the various cuts and scrapes they collected are washed away with her magic.

Long before all this, before he left, she had come to his mansion carrying a bottle of wine in her hands. “Since you’re always breaking yours,” she says, placing the bottle in front of them. She tells him she is here to get to know him better, and asks permission to protect him with her magic. She looks at him so earnestly, so sincerely, and he can only stutter acceptance. She reaches for his hand and covers it in a soft glow. _This is so you know what it feels like, so you know it’s me_. She tells him how they escaped the destruction of Lothering and came to Kirkwall. He asks what one does when they stop running, as he still feels there is more running ahead of him. The words about his markings, how he acquired them, and his lost memories simply pour from him like an unstoppable fountain. They do stop, eventually, and he apologizes for burdening her with problems that are not hers. _I might be able to help with your problems, or give you a few more._

He treasures the memory, and the first feel of her magic. He doubts that he will ever be able to forget it. Even when he has not seen her for days, or she has had no reason to cast on him, the feeling lingers and he does not mind. It was an easy thing, talking with her. He feels he has told her everything, and all that he remembers she now knows. He tells her of his guilt over killing the fog warriors, and how he felt so unworthy of his freedom. She thanks him for trusting her with this, and understands how hard it is for him to speak of it. _Perhaps this what it means to have a friend_ , he says. _It might mean more than that_ , she smiles.

That was before though. Now there are only the things he leaves unsaid, and the sad glances she casts at him, when she thinks he is not looking. Hawke flexes her fist and curses. “I still really am rubbish at healing. Maybe I should get Anders to teach me,” she says, and while Aveline assures her that her healing is adequate, Hawke only scoffs and argues that she’ll regret that when they need more serious healing.

“You should not spend so much time with him,” is all Fenris says on the matter. He knows that if he voices the broad spectrum of his concern about the abomination, she’ll acknowledge his concerns but ultimately dismiss them. It would also risk making her angry with him, when her true smiles have only begun to return. Aveline echoes Fenris’s statement, and both of them share a knowing glance as Hawke sighs. Each time they see the abomination, he carries more dark circles under his eyes and his robes hang a little heavier on a shrinking frame. It is plain to see that Anders is losing control to the spirit inside of him.

“He needs our help. He’s troubled, and I know he’s not telling me everything. Even so, he is our friend. A friend who’s saved my life, and all of yours, multiple times. I won’t turn away from him now, just as I would never turn away you, if you needed my help,” she says, her words light but with a tone of finality. She will not argue the point. She smiles at them to make peace, then says they should start their way back to Kirkwall.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m craving some of the piss they sell at the Hanged Man,” she says. Varric thanks Andraste, and _Maker_ does he hate anywhere that isn’t inside a city.

* * *

 

Weeks pass in relative calm, besides the growing unrest in the city. Hawke strolls about Kirkwall without a care, greeting all those who stop to talk to the Champion. She chats with seeming ease, a smile and a laugh at the ready. One night, as they sit in the glow of the library, she presses her palms into her forehead and confesses to Fenris that she would like nothing more than to tell some of the nobles to stuff it. She is always ready and eager to help the poorer of the city, running mindless tasks for them without hesitation. When the nobles begin to talk to her about her title and how she should attend their parties, he can see her eyes glass over with annoyance and he stifles a laugh each and every time.

No matter how much she wishes to deny it, Hawke has a healthy amount of influence in the city. When Fenris arrives at the Hanged Man, Hawke is deep in conversation with Varric, her hands flailing wildly to drive her words home. “Maker, they bicker like little children! I think they need to fight and get it over with or finally fuck some of the frustration out of each other,” she says, stamping a fist to the table. Varric roars with laughter.

“Oh that’s good. That is definitely going in the book,” he says, pulling out a pad of paper to scratch notes. Hawke waves her hand and laughs as well, but her laugh fades and her face curls into an uneasy frown.

“Maker, I’m trying to keep them from ripping the city apart. I don’t think I can stay neutral for much longer," she sighs, leaning in and holding her face up with a fist. “Did you know that Meredith had the gall to bring up my mother? Right to my face!” Fenris takes a seat across the table from Hawke and watches as she recounts the argument to Varric. Part way through the conversation, her words trail off and watches as a figure goes from the door, straight to the bar. In an instant, she is on her feet and at Isabela’s side.

Fenris watches as the two women talk in low tones, their heads close together. Hawke rests a hand on Isabela’s arm, and her smile is warm and radiant. “Whatever you think you are, I still care about you. Whatever comes, I am on your side,” Hawke says and wraps her into a deep embrace. Merrill downright squeaks when she sees Isabela, and the pirate sweeps the tiny elf off her feet and spins her round in a hug. Hawke laughs at their joy, and jokingly shields Sebastian’s eyes when Isabela begins to devour Merrill in kisses. Aveline enters the bar late, and scans the crowd. Her eyes find Fenris and she walks to his side, places her hand on his shoulder, and bends to whisper in his ear.

Hawke watches quietly as Fenris rises quickly, and leaves the bar with Aveline. “Oh kitten,” Isabela says, leaning towards Hawke. She pats Hawke’s arms sympathetically, and presses her forehead to Hawke’s. “Stop wasting time,” she says, with a light squeeze and a smile. Then Isabela turns her attentions back to Merrill and wraps her in her arms, raising an eyebrow at Hawke and cocking her head at the door. Needing no further encouragement, Hawke hurries towards Hightown.

* * *

 

 

“Are you certain it’s her?” His thoughts race and will not allow him to be still, so Fenris paces, and his heart beats erratically as Aveline speaks.

“An elf matching your description, on the ship you named. And alone, as far as I could tell.”

“I need to know if it’s a trap!” He slams his fists to the table, both to still himself and release some of the frustrations he feels. Aveline rolls her eyes.

“I did as you asked, Fenris. Now it’s up to you.” He feels guilt at having snapped at Aveline, as she is not the true focus of his ire. She rises from her seat and begins to leave.

“You talk to him, Hawke. I’ve had my fill for today.”

“Venhedis! Fasta vass!” He did not wish for Hawke to be involved, not yet. He did not want to walk her straight into a trap of his own making. She doesn’t flinch at his angry words, and simply asks how she can help. Always, her words soften him and he finds himself saying things that he previously vowed to keep to himself.

“It’s my sister,” he sighs. Her eyebrows raise in surprise, but does not interrupt. He is grateful for this, as he’s not sure he could go on if Hawke questioned him. “I didn’t tell you, but I followed up on Hadriana’s information. Everything she said was true. I had to keep it quiet, but I eventually contacted Varania and sent her coin enough to come meet me. And now she’s here.”

“She was in Qarinus after all?” She speaks without anger, her words a gentle reminder that she has forgotten nothing about that day. Or night.

“My sister left Magister Ahriman’s service, and I found her in Minrathous. That made things more difficult. But according to the men I paid, it’s just as Hadriana said: she’s not a slave. She’s a tailor, in fact. Getting a letter to her was difficult, and she didn’t believe me at first… but she’s finally come.”

“You fear it’s a trap,” she says it calmly, without annoyance as Aveline had done. Maker, how could he have kept this from her? He feared her laughter, her pity, her scorn. She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ears and he wants nothing more than to tumble into the arms he had previously fled from. Bit by bit, she had fit his broken pieces back together and now, with this, perhaps the final piece could be placed.

“Come with me, Hawke,” he pleads, “I need you there when I meet her.” Hawke answers without hesitation.

“Where is she?”

* * *

 

“It really is you.” Hawke stands behind Fenris like a shadow, and while his attention is focused on Varania, she scans the area. She watches as patrons begin to file out of the Hanged Man sporadically, and her stomach knots. Perhaps it’s just her paranoid imagination.

“I… I remember you. We played in our master’s courtyard while Mother worked. You called me…”

“Leto. That’s your name.” Varania stands, and does not meet her brother’s eyes.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so…?” It is not paranoid imagination. Hawke’s stomach sinks as she pulls on the scarf around his wrist, trying to pull him away.

“Fenris, we need to go now,” she pleads.

“Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable as always.” Hawke watches as Fenris’s eyes widen and he takes an involuntary step back. Hawke gently removes her staff and holds it lightly in her hands. Merrill does the same, while Isabela unsheathes her daggers. The three women focus on Danarius while Fenris rounds on Varania.

“I’m sorry it came to this, Leto,” Varania says as she steps back away from him.

“You led him here!”

“Now, now, Fenris. Don’t blame your sister. She did what any good Imperial citizen should.” Danarius takes his place beside Varania, a greasy smile plastered on his lips.

“I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius! But I won’t let you kill me to get them.”

“Oh, how little you know, my pet,” he laughs as the soldiers he brought with him file around him. “And this is your new master, then? The Champion of Kirkwall? Impressive.”

“Fenris doesn’t belong to anyone,” Hawke downright snarls at him, her staff held at a threatening level in her hands.

“Do I detect a note of jealousy? It’s not surprising. The lad is rather skilled, isn’t he?”

“Shut your mouth, Danarius!” Fenris worries that he spits it out a little too quickly. He cannot risk Danarius continuing, further staining the memories of the night he and Hawke shared. That is one thing he never wanted her to know, never wanted her to think less of him for.

“The word is ‘ _master_ ’.” Hawke moves, the snarl still on her face. Ice splays around her, and Danarius raises a barrier. He directs his soldiers toward them, and then retreats back to where they cannot reach him. Isabela flirts around the edges, her daggers sharp and quick, sliding into the weak points between the soldiers armor. Merrill stops them all in their path, branches growing from the floor to wrap around them. Hawke casts furiously, her magic tasting bitter and filled with angry iron. One by one, their enemies fall. Shades spring up in their wake, a desperate move taken by a surprised magister.

Fenris moves like a demon himself, the blue glow of his markings surrounding him. This is the final piece. Kill Danarius. Be free. Be whole with Hawke. It is Hawke who finally brings down Danarius’s barrier, her magic biting fiercely into his. She yells for Fenris and directs him towards the unprotected magister. He takes this order gladly. “You are no longer my master,” he growls, and snaps Danarius’s neck. The dead magister falls to the floor, his neck misshapen and his head hanging at an odd angle. He lands with a thud of finality. Now, to deal with the one who brought him.

“I had no choice, Leto,” Varania says as she cowers in the corner of the Hanged Man, her arms raised in front of her.

“Stop calling me that.” Leto is a different person, one who has no place here. He is _Fenris_.

“He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a magister.”

“You sold out your own brother to become a magister?” Magic, _mages_.

“You have no idea what we went through. What I’ve had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance.”

“And now you have no chance at all,” he says as his markings activate with barely any thought. Varania turns to Hawke and pleads with her, begs her to tell him to stop and her face twists.

“I am not his master. Fenris does not belong to anyone,” she repeats again, her voice quiet, but her tone biting. Fenris sinks his hand into Varania’s chest and squeezes.

“I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong,” he murmurs, as he stares at the hand soaked in blood. “Magic has tainted that, too. There is nothing for me to reclaim.” If Varania had not been a mage would she have still turned on him? Or would she have come to him gladly, with no other motive? Now, the only scrap of his past is dead, by his own hand. “I am alone.”

“I'm here, Fenris,” Hawke says, stepping forward, her hand outstretched and on his wrist, wrapped over the red she put there. She smiles at him shyly, and he cannot help but reach out and touch her cheek, to feel her smile, her warmth. She leans into his touch. He leaves a smudge of blood on her skin and backs away.

“I feel unclean, like this magic is not only etched into my skin, but has also stained my soul. And now this. Let’s go. I need to get out of here.”

* * *

 

Hawke gives him the time and space that he needs, even as she comes to check on him daily. She brings food with her, expertly cooked by Bodahn and even her own fumbling attempt at pastries. I’m terrible at it, she tells him, but he only ever thanks her. She leaves after ensuring he’s eaten and tells him she’ll see him tomorrow. He washes the scarf, the bloodstains fading away and tainting the water in the basin. He ensures it is clean, and scrubs it with the soap Hawke gave him. When it dries, it is once again vibrant, and covered in her scent. When she comes again the next day, he asks her to sit with him.

She does, instantly, folding her hands into her lap and looking at him patiently. “I am free. Danarius is dead. Yet… it doesn’t feel like it should.” He still feels the itch at the back of his brain, like he should be struggling to outrun the chains. He was so sure that Danarius’s death was the answer to everything. The final piece. Yet, it seems it still eludes him.

“I thought if I didn’t need to run and fight to stay alive, I would finally be able to live as a free man does. But how is that? Whatever past I had died with my sister. I have nothing now – not even an enemy.”

“Maybe that just means there’s nothing holding you back,” Hawke says finally, the oceans of her eyes calm and tranquil, ready to set sail to wherever he needs to be.

“It’s just… difficult to overlook the stain that magic has left on my life. If I seem bitter, it’s not without cause,” the words he says feel insufficient. He is telling this all to Hawke who is a mage, and has had no choice in wielding magic. She takes his words in and says nothing, not out of anger but out of respect. He wants to be better, to find a way to temper his feelings about magic, for her if nothing else. “Perhaps it is time to move forward. I just don’t know where that leads. Do you?”

“Wherever it leads, I hope it means we’ll stay together,” she smiles like the sun and, oh Maker, he cannot help but smile back.

“That is my hope, as well,” he says. She looks at him so sincerely, so happily, and is waiting for him, as always. The time has come to wade through the rift he put between them.

“We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago,” he feels the guilt and the shame press in on all sides. Saying the words out loud makes them even truer, if possible. He has let so much linger for so long.

“You didn’t want to talk about it,” she shrugs.

“I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me - I deserved no less. But it isn’t better. That night… I remember your touch as if it were yesterday,” the restlessness overwhelms him and he rises to his feet. _You don't need to leave, Fenris_. This time, he would not. “I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now.” As she looks up at him, her brows wrinkle together and her smile is wistful.

“Oh Fenris. I understood, I always understood,” she says, her arms outstretched towards him. He drops to his knees in front of her and leans into her embrace. His arms are around her waist, and hers draped on his shoulders, touching the back of his neck as gently as her magic. Here, he can hear her heart beat faster and he squeezes a little tighter.

“Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you. If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side,” he says, detangling himself from their embrace to press his lips to hers. She returns his kiss fiercely, a hand winding into his hair to hold him close. The fire burns behind him, and in front of him, in her. _Yes_ , he thinks, _she is the final piece_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be NSFW. (▰˘◡˘▰)
> 
> Always happy to talk at http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/  
> I love you all <3


	5. A Drop Filled with Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best Served Cold, Justice
> 
> Her nose touches his, and he can feel her breath on his face. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and with a tender palm to the back of her neck, he pulls her in. She tastes sweet like honey, her mouth warm and yielding. His mouth is all wine and pastries, his tongue teasing against hers.

She is shy as she stands before him, her hand in his. Her cheeks are red, she is biting her lip and she can’t quite look him in the eye. Freckles are scattered across her shoulders, like stars on a pale sky. Her head is turned slightly, her eyes looking down and past him, her free hand bundled into a fist and centered squarely on her chest. He replaces that hand with his own, tracing the scar that lies in the valley between her breasts. She is so pale, and his hand so dark, _a pleasing contrast_ , he thinks. “A perfect complement,” she whispers, placing her hand over his and looking at him, finally.

Hawke is the one who told him to wait, and undressed herself first. She allows Fenris to drink her in, invites him to find her flaws. He finds none. He steps closer and moves his hands to her face, pressing her into a kiss. In the aftermath, she looks up at him, lips red and raw, and asks if she can undress him. He nods and she begins to undo the clasps on his tunic, one by one. It opens, and she splays her hands across his chest, and gently pulls the tunic to the floor. She tells him he is so beautiful and smiles as she runs her fingers through his hair.

She hopes he does not notice her hands shake as she pulls loose the lacing on his trousers. She hooks her fingers over and pulls them to the ground. He steps out of them with ease and is grateful when her gaze does not linger long on his markings. He holds her close, one hand around her waist and the other pressing between her shoulder blades and plants the kisses he should have sowed a long time ago. She takes his hand and guides him to his bed. He sits, back leaning against the cool stone of the wall, and she moves to straddle him. Her hands linger in his hair, to brush snowy locks away from his face. Her fingers track downwards, over his ears and runs the length of his jaw. He closes his eyes and leans into her touch, his hands roving over her waist.

Her nose touches his, and he can feel her breath on his face. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and with a tender palm to the back of her neck, he pulls her in. She tastes sweet like honey, her mouth warm and yielding. His mouth is all wine and pastries, his tongue teasing against hers. She pulls away, eyes half-lidded and cheeks red, pulling his hand to her breast. She winds her hand into his hair, her head tips back with eyes closed once again, as his thumb drags over a pebbled nipple. He finds the other with his mouth and her grip on him tightens. He hears her quiet mewling, and feels the growing wetness between her legs.

Fenris can scarcely believe they’ve found their way back to each other. This is not like the first night, filled with hot emotion and want, this is slow and tempered with need. _I am yours_. She allows him to flip her with one hand on her waist, her legs locked around his hips and her arms wound around his shoulders. He pulls one of her hands above her head, and entwines their fingers together. His other hand moves down the length of the underside of her thigh. He leans into the crook of her neck and nips at her flesh with his teeth. She gasps and shakes, her free hand squeezing his shoulder.

He presses himself into her gently, and her mouth flutters open, her gaze never leaving his face, his forehead coming to rest against hers with delicate pressure. _Fenris, Fenris, Fenris_. Their hips rock together slowly, one hand clutching at her hips, the other wound underneath her, grasping at her shoulder. Her arms shake around him, fingers ghosting across his back and neck. He is losing himself inside her again, his being melding into hers. He moves to kneel on the bed, and pulls her with him. He leans her against the wall and buries himself inside her, and she gasps at the sudden shift.

She moans and drapes her arms over his shoulders, her breasts bouncing slightly with each thrust. Their mouths find each other again, and their teeth click together in their rush. In any other embrace, he would feel trapped but with her it is all soft comfort, and he presses against her gratefully. She moves him back slightly so she can kneel as well, and pulls herself up from against the wall. She cups his face, and smooths the sweat from his brow, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. He trails her scar with teeth and tongue, hot breath on flushed skin.

“Hawke,” he grunts as her movements take over from his, rising and falling against him, and it is all he can do to hold on. “I am yours,” he tells her finally, and this is the permission she needs to throw her head back and moan, her wet heat clenching around him. Her pleasure cascades and she pulls him with her. His hands tremble against her back and his grip tightens, his forehead pressed against her collarbone as he shudders and spends himself inside her. They do not move for a long time after that, choosing to stay wound around each other. His arms circle her waist tightly and his cheek is pressed against her, her chin resting softly on his head. Her hands move in his hair, tender strokes of affection. The only memories he sees are ones of Hawke.

He sees the moment he first met her, in the din and dark of the alienage, the bodies of those who had tried to come to claim him dead at her feet. A raven-haired magpie, with blood on her cheek and a smile on her face. She pledges her aid, they clear out the mansion together and find nothing. He tells her he cannot escape magic, even here, and she doesn’t get mad, just cocks her head and tells him that her magic helped. He rages at her after killing Hadriana and asks her to tell him what magic has not spoiled. _Oh Fenris_ , she sighs, _you_. She tells him not to leave when he wants to flee her home, and says her magic serves what is best in her and that best is him. He tells her _nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you_ and wonders how he ever did in the first place.

“I am yours,” he tells her again, and holds her even tighter. The firelight flickers over her skin and he can see the cooling sweat on her flesh. She holds his face in her hands and smiles, her eyes closing and forehead pressing against his as she softly laughs.

“Oh Fenris, _I_ am yours.”

* * *

 

They are loathe to leave the bed, the night peppered with moments of sleep, talking in hushed tones with gentle embraces and even gentler love. She chases away the nightmares that usually haunt him and he throws himself willingly into the deepness of sleep. Fenris draws a bath in the morning, and pulls the washcloth across her neck. She drags him into the bath with her, laughing as she does, water spilling over the sides and splashing on the floor. She washes his back and presses kisses into his shoulder. His back leans against her, her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. They stay so long the water cools, and when they finally leave, her teeth chatter and gooseflesh covers her.

He takes a towel to her hair and rubs, leaving it wet and not unlike a birds nest. He laughs at her and she chases him, trying to do the same. They land in front of the fire, and warm each other, kisses chasing away the cold. She steals one of his shirts and it fits so awkwardly on her, but she only sticks out her tongue at his teasing. She wades through his cupboards, and they eat a medley of whatever she could find. Hawke rambles as they eat, and tells him about the witch that saved them from the darkspawn. She could turn into a dragon and Maker would Hawke have liked to have learned that trick. He laughs and tells her she’s scary enough as is. She throws a piece of crust at his head and tells him to fear her great and mighty bread flinging powers.

They find their way back to each other, over and over again, quiet moments of peace found in their arms. He tells her that with her he does not dream of Danarius, and all the things he’s run from. She squeezes his hand and smiles sadly, and says she’ll be here to keep them away every night. She confesses to nightmares about being made tranquil and Fenris fiercely tells her that he will protect her, and that will never come to pass. She laughs, and kisses him in thanks.

Days later, she tells him she’ll have to back to her own home soon enough, and check on everyone. He only groans and holds her tighter, not wishing to relinquish her. Her cheeks flush and she assures him that they will have plenty of time together. She teases that they could even move to her bed, a _proper_ bed. At that, he picks her up and tosses her onto his bed, devouring her, showing her that his is more than sufficient for their needs.

He helps her dress, pulling together the buttons on her tunic. She does the clasps on his gauntlets for him, and winds the red scarf on his wrist, in its proper place. They walk back to her house together, and she invites him inside. Bodahn is pleased to see her, and greets her warmly. He starts at Fenris’s presence but then smoothly greets him as well. She shuffles through the papers on her desk, pulling out all the ones that are actually important. Her brow furrows and she shoves a letter in front of him. From First Enchanter Orsino, summoning her to the gallows. He tells her he will go with her.

* * *

 

They head to Hightown at night, under instruction from Orsino to investigate the rumors of mages and Templars sneaking out and working together toward some unknown purpose. She brings Anders with them, telling the abomination that he needs to leave his clinic and get some fresh air once in a while. The mage narrows his eyes at the marks on her neck that she did not bother to cover. When they begin to leave his clinic, he takes her by the arm to stop her. “I know it isn’t my place to criticize, but… Are you sure about Fenris? He seems less a man to me than a wild dog,” he says, glancing between Hawke and Fenris, who glowers with irritation. He starts to defend himself, but Hawke cuts in with quiet words.

“You just don’t know him,” she says firmly, and removes his grip from her arm. Varric shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the other two men as they glare at each other.

“I know as much as I’m ever likely to,” Anders says.

“That’s right, mage,” Fenris spits back.

“He has let one bad experience color his whole world. Surely you want someone more open-minded?” Anders pleads with Hawke, one hand on his own chest, the other pointing accusingly at Fenris.

“A mage and a hypocrite. What company you keep,” Fenris says. Hawke turns to him and places an open hand on his chest. She smiles at him then turns back to Anders. She tells him this discussion is over, and he is right that it is not his place to insert himself in her affairs. She’ll hear no more on the subject, from either of them. Her scolding complete, they follow her to Hightown, scowling at one another.

When the gathered group of mages and Templars attack them, they fight effectively despite their mutual dislike. Fenris and Varric protect Anders and Hawke from the Templars, while they pick off the other mages. Hawke picks through the pockets of their fallen opponents and finds a note referencing their next meeting, but it is not for a couple of days. Hawke sighs and thanks them all for helping her. Varric shrugs and suggests cards and drinks at the Hanged Man. Hawke readily agrees and _no Anders you are not allowed to back to the clinic_ and drags him with them.

The morning of the planned meeting, Hawke wakes Fenris with a gentle kiss. She tells him she’ll be back soon and sorry for not bringing him, but Isabela is going stir crazy and she would really like Merrill to see some sunlight instead of studying that mirror of hers all the time. She jokes that their Daisy will wilt without enough sunlight. He asks her if she is bringing Aveline as well, and she nods, as bringing the captain of the guard will give a little more credibility to whatever they uncover. He is relieved, as Aveline is a capable warrior and a fierce defender. Hawke tells him not to worry and smiles, a thumb running over his cheekbones and a kiss chases her touch.

* * *

 

“I told you she was after us!” The mage shouts, when Hawke enters the warehouse. The Templar standing with the mage is one she recognizes, and she looks questioningly at Keran when he speaks.

“No… not her. I can’t do this.” Keran steps away from the mage, and the mage scowls and summons the others to his side. Another mixed battle against both mages and Templars, but this is practically routine to them now, Isabela even taking the time to flirt with Merrill as she fights. The tiny elf giggles and tells Hawke that she’s happy for her. It seems everyone has noticed the shift in Hawke and Fenris’s relationship. Hawke smiles back at Merrill and demolishes a mage with a well-timed rock fist.

Afterwards, she rounds on Keran and demands some answers. “I told them not to do it, I swear!” Keran pleads. “If I knew you were the one they were talking about, I’d have warned you. I don’t hold with kidnapping. Not after what I went through.” Hawke stiffens and asks him what on earth Keran is talking about.

“They said someone was spying, we needed leverage, someone they cared about. As a hostage. We just got word they took some elf with tattoos and white hair.” Hawke’s grip on her staff tightens, her knuckles turning white and her cheeks coloring with fury.

“You bastards are going to pay if you hurt him!” Hawke yells, her tone low and filled with anger. She steps threateningly towards Keran, and he steps back away, raising his hands as a shield from her rage.

“We weren’t going to hurt him! Just make sure you left us alone. Do you understand? Thrask says Meredith will cause open war with the mages if she stays in charge. We have to take her down. They were going to our base on the Wounded Coast. The ruins there.” Hawke says coolly that she understands perfectly. She says he hopes he understands that she’ll be serving him his own innards if Fenris is hurt and tells him he had better _run_. He takes her advice.

Hawke downright marches to the Wounded Coast, the others following in her wake. All the while, the scowl does not leave her face. She had just gotten him back, fully, completely, and now they dare. She never sheathes her staff, it stays in her grasp, her magic bubbling and ready to burst just below the surface. She sees Fenris’s limp form and storms at Thrask who stands in her way. She shoves the staff in his face and snarls.

“I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn’t have come here,” the old Templar says sadly, unfazed by her wrath. “Please, Champion. I have nothing but respect for you. It’s Meredith we must see gone.”

“I will not negotiate while he lies drugged on the ground,” she seethes.

“We will release him as soon as I have your word to support us,” Thrask says.

“No! The elf dies. Then the Champion.” Grace. A mage that Hawke had previously saved from Templars. If this was gratitude, Grace could have it back.

“Stand down, Grace! We will not kill an innocent to achieve our ends. It gains us nothing to become Meredith.”

“Meredith! What do I care for Meredith? I’m here for the Champion. Decimus was right. There is no way for a mage to live by the Chantry’s laws. You killed the best man I ever met. But I learned all he had to teach,” Grace screeches as she takes a dagger and slashes her wrists. Grace disables Thrask then turns to Hawke. “Kill the Champion!”

While the others turn their attentions to those Grace has ordered, Hawke focuses on Grace. Hawke dodges her blood magic and fires back with her own, untainted, magic. As their numbers dwindle, Grace becomes more desperate. Hawke is focused, steely and cold, and does not allow Grace to help the thinning herd. Merrill stands by Hawke and adds her magic to the fight. Together, they overwhelm Grace, her barrier falling swiftly. Hawke wraps the screaming mage in ice and Aveline deals the finishing blow.

Hawke rounds on Alain, cowering in the wake of the violence. “I… I’m sorry. Grace used blood magic to hold him. That’s the only way I can bring him out.” Alain presses the point of a dagger to his palm and the blood oozes and fades into mist around Fenris. He rises, and Hawke races to his side, an arm thrown around his waist to help him stand. His head falls to Hawke’s shoulder gratefully.

“I should not have let them take me. I let you down,” he says to her but she only shushes him.

“I promise, I’ll never let anything like this happen again,” she tells him fiercely, her grip on his waist tightening.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I-it is comforting to know that I have you at my back.”

“Always.”

In the quiet of her home, she insists he stay with her. He does not protest. She trails magic over him, looking for any hurt she can heal. He confesses to her that the idea blood magic was used to hold him is disquieting and that he feels unclean. Concern washes over her and she searches for clothes that Carver left behind. She helps him undress and wash, and sends his own clothes away to be cleaned. He concedes that her bed is quite nice, and she laughs. She pulls him close to her, and holds him tightly.

* * *

 

Anders tells Hawke that he has found a way to separate himself from Justice and her eyes light up. A hand covers his and she smiles at him, telling him he needs only ask and she will be happy to help. He leads them on a puzzling quest for ingredients, through the murk and grim of sewers and to the Bone Pit, where they slay many large spiders. Hawke confesses to Fenris that she is frightened of them, a blush on her face. The indominatable Hawke, scared of too many legs.

Anders tells her he could not have done it without her support, and begs one more favor. Hawke asks what exactly he is doing and he only tells her that if she supports the mages, then she will help him. Her face falls, and she chews at her bottom lip. After a moment, her expression changes and she nods, “I won’t desert you now.” She does as he asks, goes to the Chantry and talks to the Grand Cleric about the plight of mages. He tells her not to blame herself for what will happen. Fenris finds her later, curled up in the study, her face in her hands. She feels she’s just made a terrible mistake.

He takes her to bed and tells her that her kindness is no mistake, and whatever comes, he remains at her side. He is ravenous for her and devours her lips. She rolls her hips over his and gasps his name into his mouth. He cups a breast in his hand and squeezes her the way he knows will make her cry out. Her hands grasp and shake on his shoulders, and she shoves a fist in her mouth to stifle her moans. _I am yours_ , she says. She is essential to his survival, counted first on the list, above water and food. They lie in bed together, on their sides and facing each other. Their hands are intertwined in front of them and she asks him to stay with her. He does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 Next chapter is dedicated to The Last Straw.  
> All the titles refer to the songs I listen to when I write and I've made [a playlist for you to listen to them here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uj9GcXEU5wg&list=PL9BED_fEuBDhEeHOGu1fwDw9qIXJd2Z52) if you're interested. I'll update the playlist as more chapters are added. I put the song for the next chapter in there as a small tease. :> Hope you like!
> 
> As always, happy to talk at http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/I love all your wonderful comments and I love talking to you all ∩(︶▽︶)∩


	6. Abomination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last Straw
> 
> He takes her by the shoulders and steps back, so that he may look at her face. “I may not get the chance to say this again. Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me Hawke,” he says, his voice breaking a little. His iron grip on her shoulders loosen and his hands move to her face. “Promise me you won’t die. I can’t bear the thought of living without you.”

Bodahn knocks on the door to her bedroom, apologizing profusely but something has arrived that she really must take a look at. The letter is not addressed to Hawke but to the Champion of Kirkwall. Written personally by Orsino, it is a summons asking her to the Gallows. She thanks Bodahn and smiles as he leaves her room. She fidgets with the letter in her hands and bites her lip, her stomach twisting with ill feeling. She dresses without urgency, pulling on each piece of armor methodically and carefully. Her staff is the last piece. A simple thing, it could almost be mistaken for a walking stick. Hawke had spent most of her life running, hiding what she was. Going to the Gallows meant taking a side, no more hiding.

Hawke walks to Fenris’s mansion first. She knocks politely, something she has not bothered to do in a long time. He opens the door with a scowl, but his expression fades into surprise when he sees her on his doorstep. She shows him the letter and he asks if she is going. She nods and asks if he will come with her. He knows what this means. She is asking him if he is willing to stand at the side of a mage, and fight for mages, if it came to such a thing. “I remain at your side,” he says, loosening the lip she is biting with his thumb. He takes her hand in his and squeezes it, before collecting his sword.

Hawke works her way down, from Hightown to Darktown. Aveline’s mouth thins with every word Hawke speaks, and wonders if it is her place for the captain of the guard to interfere. This is Hawke though, and Aveline Vallen stands for all. Sebastian is taking confession at the Chantry, and greets them warmly when he sees them. Hawke asks him to come with them, and tells him they expect trouble. He tells her that is bow is ready. Isabela is drinking at the Hanged Man, and her laughter stops when she sees them all walk in. Isabela tells Hawke she’s happy she showed up, she was getting a bit bored anyway.

Varric is deep in writing when she knocks on his door. He examines her up and down, sighs, and asks what trouble she’s dragging him into this time. Merrill is excited and flustered when they all show up at her home, and by the Dread Wolf she’s so sorry for all the mess. Hawke explains that they’re heading for the Gallows as things have taken a turn for the worse. Merrill asks if perhaps, next time, they could do battle with a pack of pretty flowers or soft bunnies?

At first, Hawke wonders if she should even go and collect Anders. With his connections in the mage underground, no doubt he’s heard of the trouble already. She guesses that if she did not go to get him, he would show up anyway. She decides she’d rather keep him under her own watchful eye. Anders is waiting for them when they come, simply rises from his chair and is ready to go.

When they arrive at the Gallows, a mage runs out to meet them. He thanks the Maker that Hawke has arrived, but she’s already too late. Orsino has run off, with Meredith hot on his heels. Her stomach twists a little further as the mage leads them to where the two were last seen. When they arrive, the two are in each other’s faces, screaming at each other. Meredith has her Templars behind her, and Orsino has mages behind him. “I will have the tower searched. Top to bottom!” Meredith yells, hands on her hips and her face red from anger.

“You cannot do that. You have no right!” Orsino argues.

“I have every right! You are harboring blood mages, and I intend to root them out before they infect this city!”

“Blood magic! Where do you not see blood magic? My people cannot sneeze without you accusing them of corruption,” Orsino throws his hands up in exasperation, his willingness to put up with Meredith’s paranoia flickering out into nothingness.

“Do not trifle with me, mage. My patience is at an end.”

“A wonder that I never saw it begin!”

“Fighting again. This does nothing to help Kirkwall,” Hawke says, stepping between them. Her companions fan out behind her, in an effort to contain the two squabbling groups.

“This does not involve you, Champion,” Meredith spits out, turning her attentions to Hawke. The two women square off against one another, but Hawke does not back down. “All I have done is protect the people of this city, time and again,” Meredith says, before turning back to Orsino. “What I have done is protect you mages from your curse and your own stupidity.” Meredith stands in the middle, between both Hawke and Orsino. Between two mages.

“And I will not stop doing it!” Meredith shouts, shaking her hands furiously. “I will not lower our guard, I dare not!”

“Your intentions are honorable but you take it too far, Meredith,” Hawke says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What other option do we have? Tell me, Champion, that you have not seen with your own eyes what they can do, heard the lies of mages that seek power!”

“Some of us want exactly what you want, Meredith,” Hawke states firmly. “We’re not the enemy.” A small part of anger stirs in Hawke, as Meredith takes every opportunity to remind her of the circumstances of her mother’s death. Hawke will not, cannot, allow it to manipulate her. She will not condemn all mages for the actions of one.

“You would cast us all as villains, but it is not so!” Orsino says, echoing Hawke’s sentiment. Meredith is quiet at that, and frowns, staring at her feet. The moment breaks, and her expression softens. She turns to Orsino, and for a moment, one would think that she did have the mages best interests at heart.

“I know, and it breaks my heart to do it, but we must remain vigilant.” Meredith squints her eyes and bares her teeth, shaking her fist at Orsino. “If you cannot tell me another way, do not brand me a tyrant!”

“This is getting us nowhere. Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this,” Orsino says, shaking his head and moving to leave. Meredith chases after him and drags him back.

“You will not bring her Grace into this!” Meredith snarls. Hawke begins to step forward, to drag them by their ears to the Grand Cleric. Anders gets there first.

“The Grand Cleric cannot help you,” Anders says, pulling his staff out in front of him. Meredith rounds on him, a new focus for her ire found.

“Explain yourself, mage.” Hawke’s gut twists and this, this is the moment where she starts to blame herself. She should have seen it sooner, done something about it. The caring mage she once knew, the one who would spend hours looking after others without any want or concern for coin, that man was gone.

“I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals, while those who would lead us bow to their Templar jailers,” Anders marks every point he makes by stamping his staff against the cobblestones. “The Circle has failed us, Orsino!” Stamp. “Even you should be able to see that!” Stamp. The illusion of Anders flickers, and for a moment, one could see what lies underneath. The blue light of Justice, the spirits’ claws wrapped around a well-meaning man.

“The time has come to act. There can be no half-measures.”

“Anders, what have you done?” Hawke says the words, but does not want an answer. Anders’s shoulders are slumped, and cannot meet her eyes. He drags his feet as he wanders away from her.

“There can be no turning back,” whether he says it to her or to himself, Hawke isn’t sure. A final stamp of the staff. The ground beneath them begins to tremble and shake, but these feel weak, like aftershocks. The true storm is far from Lowtown. A red light bursts into the sky, centered in the Chantry. That light bursts through every corner of the building, and systematically deconstructs it. It is contained, drawing up each brick, each stone, into a swirling form in the sky. And then it explodes. Debris smashes into the buildings surrounding the Chantry and fires begin to burn.

“Maker have mercy!” Meredith says, a statement shared by all gathered. Merrill screams behind Hawke, and Isabela pulls her into her arms. Hawke is shaking her head, denying what has happened, her hands pressed at her temples, eyes wandering madly as she surveys the damage.

“There can be no peace,” Anders says as Fenris rushes towards him, twisting his arm behind his back and pressing him to his knees.

“Elthina! No! Maker, no! She was Your most faithful, Your most beloved…” Sebastian falls to his knees as well, but his comes out of grief. “Why didn’t she listen to me? Why didn’t she leave?” He screams. He pounds his fist against the ground, and only when his knuckles are scrapped and bloodied does he rise to his feet. His face is a calm mask and he outstretches his hand, “blessed be the souls of the faithful that they ascend to Your right hand…”

“I removed the chance of compromise, because there is no compromise,” Anders says, wincing as Fenris’s gauntlets bite into his flesh.

“The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic, the Chantry destroyed.” Meredith’s words are as cold as ice, her chin up and her shoulders squared. She has been given her reason, handed to her on a silver platter. “As knight-commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed – immediately.”

“The Circle didn’t even do this! Champion, you can’t let her! Help us stop this madness!” Orsino begs of Hawke, desperation permeating his every being.

“And I demand you stand with us! Even you must see that this outrage cannot be tolerated,” Meredith says, overriding Orsino’s words with her own.

“Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster who did this is right here?” Sebastian spits out in anger, pointing at Anders. The mage does not move, does not look at anyone, is simply held in place and stares at the ground. “I swear to you, I will kill him,” Sebastian seethes. Anders finally looks up, and his gaze settles on Hawke.

“It can’t be stopped now. You have to choose,” he tells her. Hawke drags her eyes up from Anders, to look at Fenris. _I remain at your side_.

“This won’t be easy, but I’ll defend you,” Hawke says finally, turning to stand by Orsino’s side.

“You sure about this? Even you might not win this fight,” Varric says to her, flanked by Merrill and Isabela.

“I know we can do this. I believe in you, Hawke,” Merrill says. Isabela says that she’s come this far through the mess, might as well go a little further.

“Think carefully, Champion. Stand with them and you share their fate,” Meredith says, warning Hawke.

“I can live with that,” Hawke replies coolly. Meredith calls her a fool, ordering her death. The Templars surround them as Meredith retreats to rouse the rest of the Order. The mages that stand with Orsino spring into action alongside Hawke and her group, working together to push back the Templars. As the last Templar falls, Orsino thanks Hawke for defending them. He tells her he does not know if they can win, but even if they do not, he must be with his mages and leaves for the Gallows.

Fenris drags Anders by the scruff of his neck, and forces him to sit on whatever he can find. He leaves Anders for Hawke’s judgement. “There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already said to myself,” Anders says as she circles him. “I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited.” Hawke laughs.

“This isn’t justice. This is going to be a slaughter.”

“The world needs to see that the Circle is no solution. And if I pay for that with my life… then I pay. Perhaps then Justice would at least be free.” Fenris watches as Hawke’s face twists in anger, into sadness, and she buries her face into her hands as she stands behind the abomination. When she removes them, her face betrays no emotion.

“Yes, Anders. You have to pay for what you’ve done.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you,” Anders says before Hawke slips the dagger between his ribs. Then Hawke recoils, and makes the motions that Fenris has seen time and time again when she touches the dead of what she perceives as innocents. Her hands clench into fists, stretch out again, and clench back into fists. There is no time to mourn. No time to think about what she has done.

“We’d all best get to the Gallows, and quick. It’s going to be quite a show,” Varric says grimly. They race to make it there, encountering packs of mages and Templars fighting in the streets. Hawke despairs as she sees so many mages turn to abominations out of fear and desperation. It’s almost as though she can feel the demons gathering on the other side of the veil, ready for a feast. Their boat crosses to the gallows, and one is able to hear and see the flicker of fighting.

When they make it to the Gallows, the whole area is in chaos. Orsino defends the stairs, protecting those he lived to serve, the mages in his charge. He cries out with relief when he sees Hawke, another layer of protection come to defend them. His relief is short lived, as Meredith and her Templars arrive on their heels. “And here you all are,” Meredith sneers.

“Let us speak Meredith, before this battle destroys the city you claim to protect,” Orsino says, cautiously approaching her. He takes another chance to talk her down.

“I will entertain a surrender, nothing more. Speak if you have something to say.”

“Revoke the Right of Annulment, Meredith, before this goes too far. Imprison us if you must, search the tower. I will even help you! But do not kill us all for an act we did not commit!”

“The Grand Cleric is dead, killed by a mage. The people with demand retribution and I will give it them.” If Anders had stood with them now, Hawke would have shook him by the shoulders and screamed at him, to show him what his ‘justice’ has wrought. More destruction, more death, more cause for vengeance.

“We can stop this, before you both tear Kirkwall apart,” Hawke hopes that quiet words, level words, will calm hot heads. They do not.

“You will share the circles fate, Champion. Go, prepare your people. The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor.” They leave the Templars standing in the courtyard, and retreats into the gallows. They draw a defensive line at the entrance, and decide that is where they will make their stand.

“Nervous Hawke?” Varric stands at her side, and looks up at her as he speaks.

“I know we have to do this. But I don’t want to lose people,” she confesses, shaking her head. Varric gives a soft laugh and pats her arm.

“But what a way to go. A heroic sacrifice for the good of Kirkwall? There are worse endings you know. You know me Hawke, I’m not one for long goodbyes. I’m with you.”

“Whatever I’m going into, it’s good to have you along.”

“It has been an honor, Hawke.”

They all find her, and she shares words with each and every one of them. Her family, gathered under her vigilant wings. Merrill says this feels like a bad dream, and hopes she won’t lose her pants. Aveline scolds Hawke, putting her loyalty to the test. Donnic has the guard protecting civilians and Aveline is eager to join him. She will be forever grateful to Hawke for bringing them together. Hawke thanks Aveline for her steady friendship. Hawke stood by her, and so Isabela can do no less. She will fight at Hawke’s side. No leaving this time. Sebastian thanks Hawke for her sympathies for Elthina and although Anders was a mage, not all mages are Anders. He will help those who cannot help themselves.

Hawke finds Fenris last. He takes her by the hand and drags her further into the gallows, and together they find an empty storeroom. He allows her to rest her head on his shoulder and spew out all that she cannot tell the others. Her deep anger with Anders, her regret at not doing more, and oh Maker, she cannot help but feel she shares the blame for what has happened. He holds her, until she has no more fight left to give.

He tells her there is nothing she could have done. She could not have known. She is doing what is right, here and now. She even has him fighting for the freedom of mages. She brings him to many strange places. She chokes out a wet laugh and wipes away her tears. “I’ll take you to stranger places than this, just watch,” she whispers. A tempting offer.

He takes her by the shoulders and steps back, so that he may look at her face. “I may not get the chance to say this again. Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me Hawke,” he says, his voice breaking a little. His iron grip on her shoulders loosen and his hands move to her face. “Promise me you won’t die. I can’t bear the thought of living without you.”

“I don’t make that promise unless you do.”

“Nothing is going to keep me from you.” He lunges then, and the kiss they share is hot and full of need, her arms wrapping around him as they hold each other as close as possible. He backs her into a table, and sweeps off the empty vials so that she may lean against it. He parts her legs with a knee, and undoes the laces of her trousers. He pulls only one leg out, because they must be quick and that is all she needs to be free for him. He presses inside her, his gauntlets biting at the soft flesh of her ass. _I am yours, I am yours, I am yours_. No words are better than those to show what they mean to each other.

* * *

 

 

“Are you prepared, Champion? I believe the battle is almost upon us.” Orsino stands, staring at the entrance, his hands clasped behind his back.

“We will defend you as best we can,” Hawke tells him softly.

“So it begins,” Orsino sighs. The Templars march to the gates and break down the barriers that stand between them and the mages. The mages are no melee fighters and many are overwhelmed in the first onslaught. They fight back valiantly, but the Templars waste no time in getting into the gallows proper. Where Hawke and the others await them. They have chosen their position wisely, so that they may funnel the Templars down the narrow entranceway.

Hawke and Merrill cast spell after spell, blanketing the bridge to where they stand in fire and lightning. Aveline and Fenris stand at the forefront, keeping the Templars at bay. Isabela is their back up, appearing where she is most needed to protect the two warriors. Sebastian and Varric pick off those they can from the sides. Orsino and his mages follow their lead, and it seems as though the battle is not hopeless after all. The Templars flood through the gates, a seemingly endless swarm. But numbers are numbers, and they dwindle slowly but surely, the same as Hawke’s mana.

When the flood stems to a halt, they take a moment to breathe. Fenris stands with the help of his sword and Aveline is doing no better. Isabela has a deep gash on her forehead, one that rains blood down her face. Hawke gathers what remaining mana she has and spreads it between those injured. They carry the bodies of the fallen mages to the center of the room, out of the way, in case there is to be a next wave. Orsino stands in front of them and despairs.

“Look at it all. Why don’t they just drown us as infants? Why wait? Why give us the illusion of hope? I refuse to keep running! I won’t wait for her to kill me,” Orsino squeezes out the words through clenched teeth and his hands draw together into fists.

“This is not helping, First Enchanter,” Hawke says. She needs him to stay together and stay calm, for the sake of the other mages. They’re scared enough as is. She does not need them cowering away when the next fight comes.

“I am tired of helping as well. Quentin’s research was too evil, too dangerous, so I put it aside. But I see now there is no other way.” Hawke’s mouth goes slack when she hears him speak of her mother’s murderer. Orsino knew, he knew and did nothing. He knew and helped! “Meredith expects blood magic? Then I will give it to her. Maker help us all.” Hawke can hear the armor of Templars behind them but she moves forward, reaching out to Orsino a desperate plea to stop on her lips.

He slices at his wrist and the blood comes alive around him. The bodies they had piled now become fodder for his spell. They twist and contort in ways no body ever should, and surround Orsino like a cloak. Flesh begins to foul and knit together. What is left is a hulking creature of limbs, horrified faces peppering its contorted frame. Hawke can only stand horrified as it roars at her, and surrounds itself with a bloody mist. “Maybe if we stand still it won’t see us?” Hawke hears Varric mutter beside her. They dive out of its way as the thing charges for the Templars.

It dispatches them quickly, then turns its attention to them. Hawke uncorks a lyrium potion and downs it like it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever had. She relies on her favorite, using ice to slow its movement. They keep it cornered, and it reanimates the corpses it killed to spread them apart. It breaks off into a piece that Hawke can only assume is what remains of Orsino. It swims on the ground, and leaps at Sebastian. Hawke is only barely able to send a fireball in time, changing its path. It roars with anger and leaps back to the shell it left behind.

Hawke chases after it, trying to grab it, and is pulled up with it. Her hand stuck between the Orsino thing and the corpse thing, she unhooks the dagger from her belt with her other hand and begins to stab wildly. Warm blood splashes on her face as the thing roars with anger. The dagger snaps and breaks, and the thing wraps its tongue around her arm. All she can do is pull. She pulls the Orsino thing with her, and they both tumble to the floor. Fenris leaps, and pins the thing to the ground with his sword. It screams and flails, and then… nothing. Moments of still silence pass. The spell is broken when Varric fires a bolt into its face, just for good measure.

“Maker,” Hawke says, falling backwards to sit, reaching for her staff on the ground beside her. She feels Aveline approach, and the guard captain gives her shoulder a squeeze.

“We should move, quickly. With Orsino gone, there is nothing left for us to do,” she tells her softly. Hawke knows she means that there is nothing left because all the mages are dead. Meredith and Orsino saw to that. They finally succeeded in working together to accomplish a goal. Hawke wants to laugh because she can do nothing else. Instead she stands, and they move to the Gallows Courtyard.

“And here we are, Champion, at long last.” Meredith is smug, her shoulders squared and arms crossed, looking ever so pleased. The remaining Templars flank her and Hawke can see there is no escape. "I am here to see order restored. What happens to you now is your own doing. You were never part of this Circle, and I tolerated that, but in defending them you’ve chosen to share their fate.”

“So you’ve said,” Hawke reaches for her magic. She will not go down without a fight.

“Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to arrest the Champion,” Cullen says, stepping forward. Hawke has worked with Cullen before, even saving him from demons. At least one person is grateful for her service in this fucking city.

“You will do as I command, Cullen.”

“No. I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. But this is too far.”

“I will not allow insubordination! We must stay true to our path!” Again, the urge to laugh strikes Hawke. Meredith is as shitty to the Templars as she was to the mages. The urge dies in her throat as Meredith draws her sword and she gets a good look at what it’s made of. Varric makes the realization the same time she does, and she hears the dwarf swear under his breath.

“You recognize it, do you not? Pure red lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize,” Meredith says as she strokes the thing affectionately, as though it were a prized pet.

“The idol poisoned Bartrand’s mind in the end,” Hawke tells her, and as Meredith looks up at her, eyes wild and crazed, Hawke can see it’s too late. The end was already here for Meredith.

“He was weak, whereas I am not! All of you, I want her dead!” She points the sword in Hawke’s face, the sword buzzing with an evil hum.

“Enough! This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, step down. I relieve you of your command!” Cullen yells, reaching for his own sword. Meredith’s anger turns to disbelief. She steps back, her eyes widening.

“My own knight-captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic,” Meredith says, before spinning to look at the Templars around her. “You all have! You’re all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me!” They step back, away from her tirade and outside the reach of her sword. “But I don’t need any of you! I will protect this city myself!” The swords hilt swirls like tendrils, which sweep up Meredith’s arm and into her flesh.

Meredith’s glows red, the lyrium just beneath the surface of her skin. “Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter!” Meredith shrieks and the lyrium bursts through. Her eyes glow red, just like the rest of her, and the tendrils begin to seek other hosts. They find them in the statues left by Tevinter, the guardians of the gallows, watchers of mages and slaves alike. They whir to life around the Knight-Commander.

Cullen and the rest of the Templars take their place beside Hawke, ready to face the madness together. The Templars rush in and distract the statue while Hawke and Merrill cast their magic freely. Varric is firing panicked bolts, fueled by a constant mantra of “fucking red lyrium, fucking Bartrand.” Aveline is a human battering ram, bashing into the statues legs until it succumbs to her wishes and falls.

Meredith joins the fray, an unmovable avatar of righteous fury. She brings to life more statues, which sweep across the battlefield. Meredith pulls more power from the lyrium, which arcs like lightning. One of the slave statues crawls across the ground, its lifeless gaze set upon Hawke. Fenris stands in its way, a blue glow amongst a sea of red. “Maker! Aid your humble servant!” Meredith screams, pointing the sword at the sky.

Meredith pulls and pulls at the power inside the red lyrium, until she pulls too hard and the sword shatters into fragments that embed themselves into her body. She wails then, and falls to her knees. The lyrium flows over her like blood, surrounding her in a cocoon. It wavers, like lava, and then turns solid, and Meredith becomes an idol made of red lyrium. The ground around it is burned and blackened, and the air around it feels vile. The Templars examine their former Knight-Commander, then part to let Hawke and the others leave.

* * *

  

The chaos spreads. It cascades downwards from Kirkwall, and infects every circle. The mages rise up, and the world begins to burn. Cullen slips word that more Templars are on their way to Kirkwall. Isabela and Merrill leave on Isabela’s ship, vowing to raid and plunder in Hawke’s name. Sebastian leaves for Starkhaven, to take his rightful place there. Aveline cannot, will not, leave her post and they know that Aveline will never submit to questioning. Varric offers to stay behind, to buy time. Distract those looking with a story. He will find out what their intentions are, and if they are hostile. Hawke and Fenris disappear together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of DA2, now onto Inquisition.  
> As always, happy to talk [ on my tumblr (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ ](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


	7. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Dragon Age 2, Here Lies the Abyss (Part 1)
> 
> “Worried, wondering, wishing he was here. It’s Kirkwall again, friends and family. He misses you too.” Hawke nearly rockets out of her chair when she hears the voice whisper into her ear. Varric scolds Cole, telling him not to scare people like that. The boy (spirit?) apologizes to Hawke, and says he only wants to help. Cole says Fenris hurts the same way she does.

They sleep in the tent they bring with them, in the middle of the woods and under the sky. Sometimes, in the moments before they sleep, she makes them lie halfway out the tent so that she may point at the stars and connect them, drawing out constellations her father used to show her. Fenris lies with his hands linked over his chest and watches as Hawke’s finger paints invisible shapes in the air, and explains the mythos behind it all. He treasures these moments, content to listen to her speak. He knows what comes after.

Sometimes they sleep tangled together, sometimes not, but she always ends up in his arms by morning. The nightmares have been a constant, and she shakes and whimpers in his arms. When they wake she barely eats her breakfast and throws up what she manages to choke down. She tells him she’s sorry and buries her face in her hands. He says she has nothing to be sorry for.

She dreams of the mages lying around her, mouths open and eyes wide with the shock of death. The number of bodies seem to stretch on endlessly behind her, a sea of people she promised to protect and could not save. Some dreams have Orsino telling her how badly she failed them, other nights he is simply the mindless abomination. Anders is always beside her, whispering how she killed him, just like she killed Bethany, and Leandra. The demons gather at the edges of her nightmare and wait for her to give in.

They find an elven ruin on the edges of Tevinter, near Hasmal. It is overgrown with weeds and vines, and no doubt filled with skeletons and spiders. Hawke beams at the sight of it. They clear it out together, and she claims it in the name of Hawke and wishes she had a flag to plant to make it official. Hawke goes into the city to buy supplies, as she can blend in while Fenris and his tattoos cannot. Weeks pass and they find a small bit of comfort in having a home again.

One night, she asks him what he would like to do. They can’t just sit in the ruin forever. He cocks his head and thinks for a moment, then tells her that they are close to a common route for slavers. He would like to kill them, if he could. Hawke sits up and leans over him, straddling him, an excited smile on her lips. She tells him they should do it.

The first group they free are terrified, and think that Hawke and Fenris are only rival slavers, coming to take them to another hell. Hawke smiles and reaches out her hands, telling them they mean no harm. Most run, but a few stay behind. They have nowhere to go. Over time, the number of those staying in the ruins swell. Fenris teases she’s collected another group of outcasts.

Hawke writes to Varric, well, not directly. She writes to Varric’s contact, who sends it with a runner, to another contact and on and on until it finally reaches him, kept from the prying eyes of those who guard him. She tells him where they are and what they’re doing and asks if he could send letters to everyone else. An innkeeper in the city is friendly, and trustworthy, and so all the letters meant for Hawke and Fenris are addressed to him.

Hawke cannot hide her surprise when she receives a letter from Carver. The excitement fades fast though as he writes that some of the Wardens are going mad, and hearing a Calling that does not feel real. Hawke begs him to go and stay with Aveline, and not to do anything foolish. He agrees and tells her he has a friend who is investigating, if she would like to help. As always, she does not hesitate.

Later, when she goes to collect the next batch of letters, the innkeeper tells her grimly that the Divine’s been murdered. At the Conclave of her making, an attempt to bring the mages and the Templars together and stop the bloody war. There’s a hole in the sky now, made by the explosion that killed the Divine, a tear that reaches directly into the fade. Her heart pounds and she asks if anyone survived the explosion. He says only one.

Hawke paces and worries, and Fenris can only watch as she frets. They were taking _Varric_ to the Conclave. She wavers somewhere between a calm where she is sure that Varric survived, and despair where she mourns for her dearest friend. When she finally receives a letter from him, her hands shake with relief. He writes that he was not at the Conclave when it all went to shit, and that in the aftermath, an organization called the Inquisition has been formed. They seek to restore order to Thedas. At its head is one they call the Herald of Andraste, although the Herald himself does not enjoy that title very much. A Dalish elf, who has a glowing green scar on his hand which can close the rifts made by the breaches. Varric says the Herald’s a reliable person, and he’s going to stay with the Inquisition.

Varric’s next letter is significantly shorter. He tells her that red lyrium is everywhere now, there’s a corrupted maybe-Archdemon flying around, Templars are taking red lyrium, and the breach was made by Corypheus. Corypheus came for them, at Haven. They’re on the run now and Varric will let her know when they’ve settled.

Fenris’s eyebrows shoot upwards when she says that Corypheus is still alive, and tells her he distinctly remembers her shattering the darkspawn into a thousand tiny pieces. Unless they had the same dream, she remembers the same thing. Hawke starts to connect the dots, the Grey Wardens who acted strangely at the prison, and Larius who seemed more than he was after they had seemingly killed Corypheus. The false calling that Carver and her contact write to her about and the strange behavior of their fellows… all Corypheus.

Eventually, they come across the red Templars that Varric had mentioned. Corrupted husks, with red growing out of their skin. It reminds them all too much of Meredith. Hawke forbids Fenris from going near them, not willing to risk his markings coming into contact with red lyrium. They do not know what will happen if they do. He protests, wanting a strong sword at her back. She tells him he should focus harder on training their refugees then. They hoard whatever weapons they can find and pass them out to those staying at the ruins. Fenris is a good teacher, a patient one, modeled after Hawke when she taught him how to read.

_I hope you know I hold you both responsible for the fact they have me traipsing around the countryside. I’ve been to the ass end of nowhere at least three times now. At least the Inquisitor is happy about it. I’ve seen him leave fights to pick elfroot. Did I tell you that he’s read the book? Yeah, even had questions about you. It’s nice to know your work is appreciated. He’s a good kid, just got thrown into a mess. Reminds me of someone._

They are hot on the heels of the slavers, and they race through the trees on either side of the caravan. They surround it, and the slavers are yet blissfully ignorant of their presence. Hawke sends up a small mage light and they move in. The slavers are taken off guard and are easily overwhelmed. Fenris breaks the lock on the caravan and tells those inside that they are free. They are huddled together and scared, this glowing elf covered in blood not exactly making them feel at ease. Hawke smiles, and stretches out her hand. She says they are safe, and if they like, they can come with them.

_We found a goddamn fortress in the middle of the mountains. Skyhold. It’s a nice place, an elven ruin that the Inquisitor is downright thrilled about. The Inquisition’s fixing it up nice and more and more refugees are coming to camp around it. Whether he wants it or not, the Inquisitor is seen as the savior delivered by the Maker himself. Cassandra turned a spectacular shade of red when the Inquisitor asked if he could be Mythal’s herald instead. It was one of the best moments of my life_.

They are greeted when they arrive, and some come to show the new arrivals around. It is hard to find time alone now, their attentions being wanted by everyone. Hawke allows herself to be led away, shrugging and smiling sheepishly at Fenris as she does, to be shown their dwindling medical supplies. She promises they’ll get more on their next run.

_Would’ve liked to have had you guys in Redcliffe. You probably would have had a fun time too. A Tevinter Magister swept in and took control of the rebel mages, using time travel. So the Inquisitor got thrown into some bleak future and came back with some insider knowledge. I told you this shit is weird. Apparently we’ll have to save the Empress of Orlais soon._

They know all the secret corners of the ruins, and it is there they go to find some stolen moments together. Fenris presses into her hungrily, and Hawke eagerly returns his passions. He pushes down her trousers far enough to matter, and her fingers free him. He braces her against the wall and pushes himself inside her. She buries her face in his shoulder and winds a hand in his hair. _I am yours_. She stifles the cries that come with every thrust and his breathing labors when he finally comes.

_An extra word of warning, we found out that red lyrium has the bloody Blight. I’m sure you’re as thrilled to know this as I am. I’d suggest keeping Broody away from it, although I have a feeling you already have. I don’t want to see him go crazy hopped up on blight lyrium. I like my heart where it is, in my chest, thanks._

She tells him after that his hair is getting long. He sits cross-legged on the ground and allows her to cut it. She hums as she does so, her touches light and affectionate. She scratches his head after and tells him she is finished. He turns to wrap his arms around her waist and push her into the ground with him. She laughs and tells him they’ll have hair all over them now. He doesn’t care.

_We still don’t know how Corypheus is still alive. We don’t even know where to start with defeating him. You know how shitty the fight against Meredith was. Now there’s an army of them. Not to mention managing fighting demons and closing rifts at the same time. The Inquisitor’s an able kid, but he is just a kid._

They sleep huddled together, curled up in a corner. Hawke’s back is resting against Fenris’s chest, her head lolled back on his shoulder. His arms wind protectively around her, his sword at his side. In the morning, they count what coin they have. They tally their supplies, and talk with some of the group.

_He’s fighting something who thinks it’s a god, and based on the fact that we killed it and it just sprung right back up makes it look a little true. The Chantry isn’t looking for you anymore, and the Inquisition could use all the help it can get. I know you have your whole little operation going on but we could really use you. It’d be nice for the Inquisitor to know that you can actually survive a mess like this. Please. Varric._

They agree that one should stay behind. With the Inquisition directly fighting the red Templars, Hawke gently insists that she be the one to go. He helps her pack for the journey to Skyhold, and double checks everything she has. He is fussing, and delaying, and she knows it. She smooths the hair on his brow, and touches his cheek fondly. He places a hand over hers and presses it even closer to his face, closing his eyes. “Come back to me Hawke.”

“I promise,” she whispers. They make their plan, and decide that Fenris should only stay with the group for a few weeks more. Then they can either stay at the ruins themselves, or move on to other things. The point is that they have a choice. They agree that Fenris should go back to Kirkwall, back to the Amell estate where Carver is waiting. It is the easiest place to meet when her time with the Inquisition is finished. She sends word ahead to Aveline and Donnic, to keep a lookout for him.

They kiss like it’s the last time, and she tugs on the scarf and smiles. Fenris watches her form fade into the distance. Already the world feels wrong and fractured. Hawke does not look back, because she does not think she would have the strength to keep going. Hurt blossoms in her chest and it squeezes so hard she thinks she’s going to be sick. He is safe, she assures herself. She goes to ensure no harm will ever come to him.

* * *

 

It is a long journey to Skyhold, peppered with nightmares and demons, a long stretch of weary looking refugees and the occasional red Templar. Trekking through the snow is the worst and she wishes that Varric could have warned her that she’d have to scale a bloody mountain. When she arrives at the gates, she says she’s a guest of Varric’s. The guards ask for her name. She tells them it’s Bird. Varric runs to the gates as soon as they tell him who’s asking for him and she laughs when she sees him, all red in the face and panting.

They hug for a long time, until Varric says they should go somewhere where there aren’t as many eyes. They retreat to a tower that still needs repairs, and sit and talk. She tells him how Fenris is, and why he’s not there with her. Varric tells her about the Inquisitor’s inner circle, from the wayward spirit to the Qunari mercenary. Iron Bull’s one of the good ones, Varric says, and he’s technically Tal-Vashoth now. His eyes sparkle and he tells her of the growing romance between the Inquisitor and the mage from Tevinter. They’re good together, and they make each other happy. He even saw them dancing at the Winter Palace, right after the Inquisitor saved the Empress and blackmailed her, Gaspard and Briala into working together.

Hawke goes to see Cullen next, visiting him under the cover of night and closing the door to his tower. She brings with her bottles of ale and passes one over to him. She asks him how he’s doing, and if he’s thought about going back to Kirkwall. Not once, he tells her, and confesses he’s stopped taking lyrium. She tells him that is admirable, and that he is brave, and he is better off away from the Templars and their special brand of crazy. He agrees.

* * *

 

“Inquisitor, meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Though I don’t use that title much anymore.”

“Hawke, the Inquisitor. I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. You and I did fight him, after all,” Varric retreats then, leaving Hawke standing with the Inquisitor. He asks her if she would call him Lavellan. She agrees, as long as he doesn’t call her Champion. She leans over the battlements, to look down into Skyhold’s courtyard. Lavellan stands quietly beside her, waiting for her to speak.

“Impressive view. Reminds me of my home in Kirkwall. I had a balcony that overlooked the whole city. I loved it at first. But after a while, all I could see were the people out there depending on me,” she said quietly. No matter its faults, she did miss Kirkwall, missed her friends and her home.

“You heard about Haven?” Lavellan asks, folding his arms.

“I have.”

“That’s why we’re here now. And why I have battlements instead of balconies.”

“May they serve you well,” Hawke said. Lavellan reminded her a bit of Anders, with eyes that she suspected used to be bright, but had dulled with time and experience.

“Varric said that you fought Corypheus before.”

“Fought and killed. The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connection to the Darkspawn to influence them.”

“Corypheus got into their heads. Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other,” Varric interjected, putting the bottle he was drinking down onto a nearby barrel.

“If the Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again,” Hawke continued, and thanked the Maker that Carver was safe under Aveline’s protection.

“If that’s what happened to the Wardens, do you think we can free them?” Lavellan asked, his eyes moving between Varric and Hawke. Varric shrugged.

“It’s possible. But we need to know more first. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something for me. His name is Alistair. The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing,” Hawke said, pacing back and forth, biting her bottom lip.

“Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks. Did your friend disappear with them?” Varric asked, Lavellan cocking his head at her and waiting for an answer.

“No. He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.”

“I appreciate the help,” the Inquisitor said, his words feeling sincere.

“I’m doing this as much for myself as for you. Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I’d killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.”

Lavellan shows Hawke the glowing scar on his hand, and calls it the anchor. She places her hand over his and can feel the fade pouring through the mark. It feels not unlike Anders, when Justice bled through the cracks. This is stronger, however. Hawke tells Lavellan this, and warns that Justice eventually swallowed up Anders. Lavellan flexes his hand into a fist, says he knows, and he’s doing his best to keep it at bay.

Varric drags her down to the Herald’s Rest, explaining on the way that it’s not as good as the Hanged Man, but it’ll do. She meets the Iron Bull, her heart pounding wildly and a hand flutters automatically to cover the scar on her chest. He shoves a tankard of ale toward her and tells her that she’s _amazing_. She sputters her thanks in surprise. Lavellan and the Tevinter mage, Dorian, are sitting side by side, their heads bent together, talking in whispers. She sees the Inquisitor smile, a true smile, and their hands link together. Sera is silly, and bright, and was there in Denerim during the Blight. She and Hawke agree that it was downright bullshit. Sera turns to Blackwall and asks if all Grey Wardens have beards.

“Worried, wondering, wishing he was here. It’s Kirkwall again, friends and family. He misses you too.” Hawke nearly rockets out of her chair when she hears the voice whisper into her ear. Varric scolds Cole, telling him not to scare people like that. The boy (spirit?) apologizes to Hawke, and says he only wants to help. Cole says Fenris hurts the same way she does. Hawke’s heart aches and when she crawls into bed, wishes he was there to hold her.

* * *

 

They go to Crestwood, and find the Warden Alistair. “Are you _the_ Alistair who fought the Archdemon with the Hero of Ferelden?” Lavellan asks and Alistair tells him that he is one and the same.

“When Hawke killed Corypheus, the Wardens thought the matter resolved. But Archdemons don’t die from simple injury. I feared Corypheus might have the same power, so I started to investigate. I found hints but no proof. And then, not long after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling,” Alistair says and explains what exactly the Calling is. The price for being a Warden. “If all the Wardens die, who will stop the next Blight?”

The Wardens are desperate, thinking they are dying and leaving a world unable to defend itself. They play right into Corypheus’s hands. Warden-Commander Clarel reaches for every solution, even in blood magic, to prevent further Blights. Wardens are gathering in the Western Approach, at an old Tevinter ritual tower. Alistair asks for their aid.

Hawke and Alistair will head there directly, the Inquisitor needs to set up a base in the Approach first. Hawke and Alistair make camp together and chat amicably. Hawke asks how his elf is doing. He says his _wife_ is magnificent as always, and that she searches for end to the Calling, the _real_ Calling, so that they can grow old together. Alistair asks how her elf is doing. She tells him he should be in Kirkwall by now, with her brother and Aveline. Lavellan meets them with some of his inner circle. Cassandra is shy, and she asks Hawke if she will sign her copy of _The Champion’s Tale_. Solas and Vivienne are mages, and Hawke can feel the stark difference in their magic. Vivienne’s feels cool and crisp, while Solas has magic that feels old and weighted. Her own magic she thinks is wild, not having any classical training.

A Tevinter Magister, Erimond, laughs as he binds Warden mages to Corypheus and his will. The Warden warriors fall and rise as demons, to serve as an army. Erimond tries to disable the Inquisitor, by pulling on the magic that surrounds the anchor, but flees like the coward he is when it does not kill Lavellan. They fight and kill the mages who are now slaves to Corypheus. Erimond flees in the direction of the Warden fortress Adamant. The Inquisition will follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter closes out Here Lies the Abyss.   
> I am here for hugs when the feels hit. (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ
> 
> As always, you can find me at[ my tumblr. ](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)  
> [Music playlist!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9BED_fEuBDhEeHOGu1fwDw9qIXJd2Z52)


	8. The Place of All Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here Lies the Abyss (part 2)
> 
> “Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about. You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it.”

“Oh, it’s been great. Murderous Wardens, Archdemon attacks, plenty of blood mages, and crazy Templars. Just like home,” Varric says to Hawke as she laughs. She leans across the table and pats his arm and gives him a warm smile.

“I know how much you hated leaving Kirkwall,” she says, having hated it just as much as Varric. She wanted to stay, to help with rebuilding and putting Kirkwall back together. But they had ignited a war, and their presence might have sparked an Exalted March. Kirkwall didn’t need more chaos.

“This is the ass end of Thedas. You know they eat _snails_ here? Still, I think… I need to finish this out. If it weren’t for me and Bartrand, none of this would have happened. So much for changing our lives.”

“That’s what happens when you try to chance things. Things change,” Hawke sighs, tipping the bottle to her lips and downing the rest. “You can’t always control how,” she says wistfully. She would have liked to have changed so much. Now, she was content just to go home and leave the saving of the world to more capable heroes.

Lavellan finds her in the morning. They move to march on Adamant, the whole of the Inquisition at their backs. It will be dangerous, and he cannot guarantee her safety. She remembers what Varric told her and tells the Inquisitor, “I need to finish this out.” Hawke is grateful he is bringing Varric with them, happy to have a loyal friend at her back. Cassandra is with them as well, and Varric is happy to tease the Seeker about how much she _admires_ Hawke. The Seeker turns red and says that she only believes the Champion is a capable woman.

Hawke wanders the camp the night before they are to attack, and sees Lavellan and Dorian huddled together behind some tents. They are too busy holding each other, pressing hungry kisses to each other’s lips, to notice her. She smirks and quickly leaves, giving them their privacy. She knows exactly where this leads, especially before a battle. She is happy for the Inquisitor, knowing full well that responsibility is more easily carried when you have someone to help.

The Inquisition’s trebuchets pound at Adamant’s walls. The Inquisitor will breach the main gate, while Hawke and Alistair will go to the battlements with the rest of the soldiers. Lavellan asks them to keep his soldiers safe. Hawke says she will do the best she can. They go their separate ways and Hawke climbs the ladder with the others, to be greeted by hostile Wardens and demons. Fighting is reflex for her, and she falls into an easy rhythm.

She uses her magic freely, and bathes the battlements in the elements. She moves, deeper to the center of the fortress, the Inquisition’s forces surrounding her. The Inquisitor finds her fighting a pride demon, the hulking creature stretching lighting like yarn between its fingers. Lavellan is precise with his arrows, all of them finding its mark. They work their way down the fortress, collecting Alistair along the way.

He is loath to kill his fellow Wardens, and Lavellan does the best he can to sway the warriors to his side. The mages are already lost, chained by Corypheus. Lavellan tells the Wardens that they are only there for Clarel, and to leave if they can. Most take his advice. “Not all the Wardens have stood against us. Maker willing, we may be able to reason with Clarel,” Alistair says, his tone betraying some hope.

Clarel and Erimond stand on a balcony, overlooking a courtyard where, at its center, a barely formed rift is winking into life. Warden mages pull at its edges, trying to widen the rift. Clarel addresses the Wardens gathered, outstretching her arms towards them. “Wardens, we are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect,” she shouts as she paces the balcony.

“The Inquisition is inside, Clarel. We have no time to stand on ceremony!” Erimond is annoyed and impatient, knowing that if he fails, he dies with the rest of them.

“These men and women are giving their lives, Magister. That might mean little in Tevinter, but for the Wardens, it is a sacred duty.” Erimond scowls with frustration, folds his arms and taps his foot as Clarel’s chosen sacrifice approaches.

“It has been many long years, my friend,” she says sadly as she greets him.

“Too many, Clarel. If my sword arm can no longer serve the Wardens, then my blood will have to do,” he says, kneeling in respect. Clarel takes the knife from its sheath, whispers that his blood will save them all, and sweeps the knife across his throat in a red arc.

The Inquisitor leads them inside the courtyard, just in time to see the last moments of the sacrifice’s life. They stumble to a halt and take in the scene before them. The mages do not pause in their attempts to widen the rift, but the warriors draw their weapons.

“Stop them! We must complete the ritual!” Erimond shouts, pointing at Lavellan. Lavellan raises his hands to show he is not a threat, and approaches the Wardens.

“It’s done, Clarel,” he says firmly. “There will be no ritual, and no demon army.”

“Then the Blight rises with no Wardens left to stop it, and the whole world dies! Is that what you want?” Erimond is confident in the lies he spews, and the smile is sick and smug on his face. “And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty.”

“We make the sacrifices no one else will. Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them,” Clarel says, her voice joining Erimond’s. Hawke thinks she is foolish, blindly following a goal that may never bear fruit. What it does do is leave a trail of blood behind them.

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!” Alistair shouts back. Clarel’s jaw goes slack and her mouth opens, her eyes widening.

“Corypheus? But he’s dead.” The doubt is starting to creep inside her, and so Erimond pounces quickly, whispering urgently into her ear.

“These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel.” The Warden-Commander rubs her brow, her mouth downturned. Her expression hardens and she gives the order to her mages.

“Bring it through.” The mages renew their efforts at the rift, pushing and pressing at it, and it is almost as though Hawke can hear the anchor hissing in anger as sparks fly from the Inquisitor’s hand.

“Please!” Hawke pleads, “I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It is never worth the cost!” She thinks of Kirkwall’s streets, the mages turning into abominations in fear of the Templars who chase them, and Grace, whose search for power twisted her.

“I helped fight the Archdemon in Ferelden, could you consider listening to me?” Alistair begins, but his words are cut short by a screeching that comes from the rift.

“Be ready with the ritual, Clarel. This demon is truly worthy of your strength,” Erimond tells her, practically rubbing his hands together in glee.

“Listen to me,” Lavellen strolls forward again, pleading with Clarel. “I have no quarrel with the Wardens! I have spared those I could! I don’t want to kill you, but you’re being used. Some of you know it, don’t you?” The Warden warriors shuffle and one by one, they speak out, speaking of how the mages who have done the ritual are no longer friends they recognize.

“You cannot let fear sway your mind!” Clarel argues, but the first cracks have begun to show.

“He’s not afraid. You are. You’re afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing,” Hawke adds her voice to the fray and the cracks spread.

“If this were a fight against future blights, I would be at your side. But it’s a lie!” Alistair’s words add the final crack and the illusion shatters. The Wardens turn to their Commander, who turns to Erimond.

“Clarel we have come so far. You are the only one who can do this,” his staff is in his hands, perhaps realizing already that he has lost.

“We could test the truth of these charges, to avoid more bloodshed,” Clarel says and those are not the words that Erimond wants to hear. She is no longer a reliable ally and so he brings in one whose loyalty will not falter. The Archdemon, corrupted dragon, lands on the battlements of Adamant and screeches at those below it. It spews forth red death, and its song sounds like red lyrium. Clarel now knows she has been deceived. She has made the blight stronger, not the other way around. She attacks Erimond from behind. The Tevinter magister flops forward and falls like the fool he is. Her next attack strikes the dragon. It spews forth its corruption and separates Clarel from Erimond, who takes the chance to run. Clarel gives chase. The Inquisition can do no less.

Erimond runs to a dead end, stuck on a decaying bridge. Clarel advances, the full wrath of her anger spewing from her mouth and the need for vengeance flowing in waves by the magic in her fingertips. Erimond’s spells bounce off her barrier, no match for Clarel’s steel. Clarel moves to make the final blow, and it is not Erimond who stops her, but the dragon. It tosses her body like a rag doll and then it begins its advance on Lavellan and the others. It backs them into the same dead end.

“In war, sacrifice.” There is nowhere left to run. “In peace, vigilance.” Clarel looks at the dragon above her, her broken body struggling to hang on. A hand raises, and Clarel strikes at the dragon’s underbelly. It panics, skittering forward at the group and sliding off the edge of the bridge. The bridge crumbles in its wake and takes them all down with it.

* * *

 

Hawke lands on the ground (sky?) and stumbles to her feet. “This is unexpected,” she hears Alistair say, and the dread settles in her stomach.

“We were falling. Is this… are we dead?” She asks and she thinks she’s going to throw up. “No, no, the Inquisitor opened another rift with the mark. This is the Fade,” she says as the realization dawns on her.

“The first time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me. Perhaps the difference is that we are here physically. This is no one’s dream,” Dorian says, Lavellan taking his lovers hand gratefully. They agree that no matter where they are, the best thing to do is leave, as soon as possible.

They climb a staircase and find something waiting for them. An old woman, dressed in elegant Chantry robes, her hands folded in front of her and a kind smile on her lips. “I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion,” she says to them.

“Divine Justinia? Most Holy?” Cassandra is incredulous as she approaches the figure.

“Cassandra,” it says warmly.

“You knew the Divine,” Lavellan says to Cassandra. “Is this really her?”

“I… I don’t know. It is said the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but… We know the spirits lie. Be wary, Inquisitor.” A practical woman. Hawke likes Cassandra thoroughly.

“You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have. I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor. You lost them to the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work. This place of darkness is its lair,” the Divine says, explaining that the Inquisitor must retrieve the part of himself that the demon stole.

They hunt for Lavellan’s stolen memories, and find them buried in the wisps that haunt the Nightmare’s lair. They uncover the truth of the Conclave, Corypheus having manipulated Wardens into infiltrating and capturing the Divine. The holy mark gifted by the Maker? A random ricochet, put there by the magic that Corypheus was trying to take for himself. They continue forward, and the Nightmare greets them personally.

“Perhaps _I_ should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition,” its voice booms around them, and it laughs.

“Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here…”

“Just keep talking, smiley,” Varric grumbles as he wades through a pool of water, Bianca in his arms.

“Greetings, Dorian… it is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father.”

“Rather uncalled for,” Dorian replies, playing up fake shock and offense at the Nightmare’s words.

“Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your “faith” has been for naught.”

“Die in the Void, demon,” Cassandra says through gritted teeth.

“Did the King’s bastard think he could prove himself? It’s far too late for that. Your whole life, you’ve left everything to more capable hands. The Archdemon, the Throne of Ferelden… Who will you hide behind now?”

“Is that all it’s got? I’ve heard worse than that from Morrigan,” Alistair replies, and Hawke waits for her turn.

“Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about. You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it.”

“I’m going to enjoy killing this thing,” Hawke says and does not let on how deeply the words strike at her. A fear demon knows precisely where to wound. She reminds herself that Fenris is safe, far away in Kirkwall, away from all of this madness.

The spirit of the Divine leads them through the Fade, until they are at the doorstep of their goal. “You must get through the rift, Inquisitor. Get through and then slam it closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons… and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade,” it tells them.

They can see the vibrant green glow ahead. “The Rift! We’re almost there!” she says, ready to leave the Fade.

“Great, Hawke. Why not just dare the old gods to try and stop you?” She punches Varric’s arm playfully. The Rift comes into view, and it is flanked by the Nightmare and its rather large pet. The Divine moves past them.

“If you would, please tell Leliana, ‘I am sorry. I failed you, too,’” it says, drifting upwards to face the large demon, the spirit’s energy expanding and sparking to bathe the area in white light. When it clears, only the Nightmare remains. It screeches at them, and summons tiny fears to surround them. Spiders, goody.

They battle their way through the fearlings, to get at their master. The Nightmare surrounds them with energy like cobwebs and Hawke can feel her strength being sapped. She and Dorian work together, to strengthen barriers and free the group from the Nighmare’s grasp. She is reminded of Aveline as Cassandra charges with her shield like a human battering ram. Lavellan plants arrow after arrow, and Varric does the same with his bolts. Alistair fights beside Cassandra, striking at whatever part of the Nightmare he can reach.

Lavellan pauses and reaches out his hand, the anchor, toward the Nightmare. A small part of the Fade flutters and folds on itself, and begins to expand. Alistair and Cassandra bash the Nightmare toward it, Hawke and Dorian adding their spells to forcibly push the Nightmare into what the Inquisitor has created. The Nightmare screams and flails and is gone. Lavellan lowers his hand and the Fade rights itself.

“Go, now!” Lavellan screams, pointing his companions to the Rift. Lavellan is faltering, his energy depleted by his actions. Hawke takes an arm, and holds him upright. Alistair does the same. Together they limp towards the Rift, watching as the others disappear to the other side. The Rift is so close, Hawke can almost feel it… The Nightmare’s pet demon descends, having vanquished the Divine’s magic.

It snarls at them and hovers over the Rift, over their way out. It swings at them, and keeps them back. They cannot let this thing through the Rift. They cannot let Corypheus have any inch of his demon army. Hawke closes her eyes and sighs.

“Go. I’ll cover you,” she says.

“No!” Alistair shouts. “The Wardens made this mistake. A Warden must-“

“A Warden must help them rebuild. That’s _your_ job!” Hawke fires back. “Corypheus is mine,” she snarls. The Inquisitor asks her to stay. She does. “Say goodbye to Varric for me.” She goes to meet her fate. _The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment… and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly._ She leaps, she falls, she begs for Fenris’s forgiveness.

* * *

 

Fenris dreams of Hawke again, as he has for the past week. This night she is walking through the dark streets of Lowtown, her hands on her face. Behind her is the shambling corpse of Leandra, still in Quentin’s wedding dress, and the mangled body of a young woman he can only guess is Bethany. Anders walks behind her as well, blood pouring from his mouth, his eyes sparkling blue. Orsino follows, Meredith, the Arishok, and even Varania. Mages and Templars alike walk in this grim parade, Tal-Vashoth and bandits, even townsfolk tainted by the blight. He runs ahead to Hawke, and she is whispering under her breath. “It’s not real, it’s not real.” He tries to pull her hands down. Her lip is bleeding, bitten raw. Her eyes are cracked green and dark circles hang underneath. She looks at him. “You’re not real. I wish you were. I wish you would kill me.”

Aveline visits them in the morning, as she does every day. She brings food with her, knowing full well Carver and Fenris would rather drink than make a meal for themselves. She says they are hopeless and leaves the food and the letters addressed to them on the table. Fenris flicks through the letters and finds one stamped with the seal of the Inquisition, Fenris’s name written in Varric’s recognizable handwriting. He opens it, pleased to finally hear from them. Hawke said she would write as soon as she was on her way home.

Fenris wishes he never learned to read. His heart is pounding and he is gasping for air but his chest constricts and he cannot _breathe_. He slumps to his knees, his forehead touching the cool stone. He is choking and heaving and he crumples the letter to his chest. _Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you_. The knot of the scarf slips loose and it falls to the ground. Fenris’s shoulders wrack as he begins to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choo, choo, all aboard the feels train. Next stop, hell. (◡‿◡✿)
> 
> Come talk to me (or yell) on [my tumblr <3 ](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


	9. Where Have You Been?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Here Lies the Abyss, Pre-Tresspasser
> 
> He steps back in the doorframe, and he stumbles backwards into Carver. The younger Hawke’s face is neutral and he takes Fenris by the arm. Fenris sees him raise a fist. A fist that finds its way into his face.

The bed smells like her. He cannot bear to sleep in it, unwilling to erase what traces of her he has left. Instead, he sits in the chair he used when he read to her, and holds the scarf in his hands. He receives papers from the seneschal of Kirkwall, informing him that they have been through Hawke’s will and she has left everything she has to him. There is a small note written in Hawke’s hand, asking him to please look after Carver.

Varric has written to them all, it was only cruel luck that Fenris received his letter first. They gravitate towards each other naturally, without any communication. Weeks later Isabela and Merrill show up at the estate, Sebastian soon after. He can hear them talking in low tones in the rooms below, Aveline and Donnic with them as well.

Varric cannot leave the Inquisition, he has no time to mourn, instead he promises to return to Kirkwall once Corypheus finally defeated. Fenris does not want to see him. Varric was the one who wrote to her, who stole her from his arms. He took her and left her to die. Sebastian tells him that it isn’t fair of him to say such things, and once the grief passes, he will see that Varric is in as much pain as he is. Fenris doesn’t care.

Isabela comes to see him next, and she feels as though she should say something. He tells her she should leave him be. She tells him he’s lucky he’s had love in his life, not everyone can say that. Merrill says that Hawke is in a better place and all Fenris can think is the best place she could be is beside him. Aveline sits in front of him, tells Fenris that he made Hawke impossibly happy. She says no one tells you how to mourn.

Fenris receives letter after letter from Varric. He does not open any of them. He receives one from Inquisitor Lavellan. He writes that Hawke saved his life, and he will endeavor to be worthy of it. Her sacrifice allowed them to take immense power away from Corypheus and learn the key to his defeat. They go now to finish her work. He does not know Fenris, but he is sorry and says that if Fenris wants something, he need only ask it of the Inquisition. Fenris only wants Hawke back.

He raids the wine cellar and drinks ~~her~~ his wine, bottle after bottle. He stumbles into the kitchen, where they are all sitting around the table. He throws a bottle and screams for them to get out of his house. They all look shocked, and they start talking at once, trying to calm and approach him. He backs away from them all, _get out, get out, get out, leav_ e! He steps back in the doorframe, and he stumbles backwards into Carver. The younger Hawke’s face is neutral and he takes Fenris by the arm. Fenris sees him raise a fist. A fist that finds its way into his face.

* * *

 

Fenris wakes on the Wounded Coast. He can see Carver in front of him, his legs dangling over a cliff edge, staring at the waves that beat against the wrecked boats. He drinks from a bottle, and when he hears Fenris wake, throws a water skin at him. Fenris’s face is tender and his eye is swollen, no doubt it’s blackened. “Carried you here. Maker, you weigh nothing now,” Carver says as Fenris sits beside him and sips at the water skin. Fenris only grunts.

“I appreciate how much you loved her. She loved you the same. Even when you broke her heart and left,” Carver says, and does not look at him. “Every letter was so annoying. Fenris did _this_ , Fenris knows _this_ , blah, blah, blah. What did I care?” Carver downs the rest of the wine in the bottle, shakes it to ensure he got the last drops, and chucks it down into the water.

“She was my _sister_. Aveline and them were her _friends_. You’re not the only one who gets to mourn. The rest of us are doing the same. And you yell at us, throw things at us, and tell us we don’t deserve to grieve? Maker,” Carver snorts, shaking his head.

“You’re acting like a little shit. You need to snap out of it. She wouldn’t want you to be like this,” Carver says firmly, finally cocking his head slightly to look at Fenris.

“I’m going back to the Wardens.” Fenris starts to protest, Corypheus is still out there and Hawke asked Fenris to protect him, but Carver silences him by raising a hand.

“If you actually opened Varric’s letters, you’d know they defeated Corypheus and closed the Breach for good. So, I’m going back to the Wardens and you’ve no reason to stop me,” Carver says. Fenris feels a pang of guilt. How long had it been since Hawke’s death? All the days seemed to blur together.

“When I go, you’re going to do a few things. No, shut up, you’re not allowed to talk right now. First, you’re going to find something to do with yourself. Join Isabela and Merrill on their ship, go to Starkhaven with Sebastian, join the bloody guard or become a brother of the Chantry, I don’t care. As long as you are not in that house all the time pining like a kicked puppy.

“Secondly, you’re going to stop drinking. _Shut up_. You can’t get rid of feelings by drowning them in alcohol so you’re going to deal with it. And for the love of the Maker, you’re going to actually start eating again.

“Third, you’re going to talk to Varric. He’s coming back to Kirkwall now that his business with the Inquisition is finished. You’re going to kiss, hug, cry, whatever as long as you two talk to each other. It wasn’t his fault.

“Finally, you’re not going to do anything stupid. I got a note from her too, you know, in case of death and all that. She asked me to look after you, make sure you’re alright. So, this is me, looking after you like you’re a _child_.

“Oh, and stop telling them to get out of the bloody house, they can be there if they want to be. You can’t kick me out of the Amell estate when I’m the last fucking Amell there is. You may be a Hawke, but so are they,” Carver finishes, rising to his feet and brushing the sand from his trousers. Fenris starts to rise as well, but Carver stops him.

“No. You’re going to stay here. You can come home later. First you’re going to let out whatever you need to. Come back with a better attitude,” Carver says, and leaves.

Fenris arrives at the estate after dark, his hair and clothes damp, his knuckles bruised and bloody. He stands and shivers in the kitchen, in front of all of them, and gruffly apologizes for his recent behavior. He’s brought a peace offering in the form of pastries, and slams the basket down on the table before leaving.

He bathes, he uses her soap, and he dresses in dry clothing. He joins them at the table, and Aveline gently pushes a full plate of food in front of him. They all talk quietly amongst themselves, but he can see their eyes flick towards him to make sure he is eating.

Isabela sighs and stretches, and says that she and Merrill are going to join the Inquisition. They need help cleaning up the rest of the Venatori and red Templars and it’s been so boring not being able to kill things. Merrill chatters excitedly, and hopes the Inquisitor will let her explore and study Skyhold. A fascinating ruin, it could hold so many secrets for the elven people!

Sebastian says he intends to stay a little bit longer, at least until after Varric arrives. He’s organizing aid for Kirkwall from Starkhaven. Varric and his connections will be instrumental in ensuring that the aid gets distributed wisely.

Carver shares the news that he is going back to the Wardens, as there is no longer any reason to stay away. The rest do not seem surprised with this. Aveline and Donnic are going to take a small holiday, maybe to Denerim, maybe to Orlais, now that it’s safer to travel. They all turn to Fenris.

“I think – I would like to aid in repairing Kirkwall. It is my home, as well. It would be good to feel useful again,” he says softly, before shoving bread in his mouth so they don’t expect him to say anything else. The night wears on and it feels like the old days again, when all they had to worry about was rampaging Qunari and an imminent mage-Templar war. He almost snorts. Their worries have changed now, twisted into different things. He feels they used to be so naïve.

Fenris dreams of Hawke again. She is gaunt, as thin as he is. Her blue eyes are faded and the green cracks inside them gleam vibrantly. She is pale, almost grey, and glows with a green twinge. She is sitting on her bed in Kirkwall, picking at bloodied fingernails. She looks up when he enters the room. “I’m tired of this game. I thought you’d know by now not to use him,” she says, and rises from the bed. She marches towards him, and wrestles him to the ground. She straddles him and wraps her hands around his throat. She is crying, and then she is squeezing and Fenris shoots up in his bed, drenched in sweat.

Carver leaves a few days later, outfitted in his Warden armor, his sword strapped to his back. Carver grasps Fenris’s shoulder and gives him a firm shake. “Remember what I said. If Aveline writes me and says you’re not doing what I said, I will come back and this time I’ll _throw_ you off the Wounded Coast,” Carver says and the door slams shut behind him.

Fenris walks to the docks, feeling foolish, carrying flowers in his hands. Sebastian’s advice. Find somewhere you can mourn her, leave her gifts. He climbs the base of the statue they built after she defeated the Arishok. It is the only thing he can think of that resembles a grave. “An accurate likeness,” Hawke had joked upon seeing the statue, what with its heavy armor, helmet and Maker, a sword. He sits on the statue, breaks bread and eats, and leaves the flowers. It becomes routine, and he does this every morning.

Isabela and Merrill take off together, but not before propositioning Fenris. Isabela says he would make a handsome decoration for her ship, if he’d ever like to join her crew. He politely declines. Merrill takes his hand and pats it and says Hawke would be so proud of him.

Varric arrives, and together with Sebastian’s help, Kirkwall begins to look like an actual city again. Before Sebastian goes back to Starkhaven, he asks Fenris to come with him to the Chantry. It is a temporary place, while the actual Chantry is being rebuilt. Together they sit during prayer and Fenris once again feels foolish. Still, he bows his head and hopes that Hawke has found peace. He hopes he will, too.

Aveline and Donnic return from Orlais, arms filled to the brim with gifts for Fenris. They have brought him new clothes, new furniture, and as many books they could find. He shuffles his feet and asks them what he can do to repay them for their kindness. Donnic asks him to play cards with him again, he misses ‘boys night’. Fenris agrees and apologizes but he is forbidden from partaking in drink. Aveline snorts, “damn right you are.”

For Varric’s service to Kirkwall, the nobles make him Viscount. Fenris has still not yet gone to see him. He is not sure how. The anger is still there, bubbling under the surface, but time has softened it and more rational thoughts begin to prevail. He fears seeing the dwarf will only reignite the anger. Varric does not come to see him. It is clear that Sebastian, or Aveline, or someone has warned him.

Weeks later, he books a formal appointment with the Seneschal to see the Viscount. “Did you really need to make an appointment? You could have just come any time,” Varric sighs when he sees Fenris, and leaves his desk to stretch out his hand. Fenris takes it, and they shake. Varric closes the door to his office and tells Fenris he’s cleared all appointments for the day.

Fenris confesses he’s been blaming Varric for her death. “I know. I blame myself too,” Varric says. Fenris tells him that he’s come to the conclusion that Hawke made her own choice and would not want Varric to blame himself, or for Fenris to blame him either. He tells Varric that Hawke cherished his friendship deeply and was grateful for everything he’d ever done for her. The dwarf clenches his fists and sheds bitter tears.

Fenris begins work for Varric, shifting between being his bodyguard and his runner. Varric always finds something for him, and together they fill their days enough to distract them from other things. Nights are always the worst, when he is alone with his thoughts. There is no wine in the house, he donated what was left, as he cannot bear the temptation. Most nights are peaceful, but some are peppered with dreams of a Hawke covered in blood and screaming at him to leave her alone.

* * *

 

Hawke peers around the corner of the foundry. Her forehead is beaded with sweat and her heart is beating wildly. The darkness shifts, and candles burst to light. She sees what is waiting for her. From inside her throat, a small, strangled, sound escapes and her eyes widen in horror. “Sweetheart,” it says lovingly, “come to mommy.” It reaches out its arms to her, the skin all burned away, the maggots crawling over its skull. It shuffles forward, and whatever flesh remains falls as it walks. She turns, and runs.

She is in the throne room, and the Arishok waits for her on the steps. There is no flesh on his face, only a bleached white skull, horns bursting from it. He rises, and gathers his sword. He charges at her, and slices her through the middle, pining her against a pillar. She gurgles and gasps and a voice comes from the skull. _You are not worthy_.

She falls to the ground, on her hands and knees, her midsection whole and only scarred. She gasps for breath, and looks upward. The ogre charges at her, but Bethany steps in its way. The ogre grabs her, breaks her, drops her and disappears. The head of the dead thing turns to stare at Hawke. _You let this happen_. She squeezes her eyes shut and beats her temples with her fists.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, moving down her back. “Hawke,” she hears and the voice is all too familiar. She opens her eyes and sees Fenris, red crystals breaking from his skin. His markings have all turned red. Blood dribbles from his lips as he smiles at her. _You failed, Hawke_. She screams.

The Fade shifts and reverts to floating rocks and green skies, the desire demon stalking before her. Hawke rises to her feet and watches as the demon encircles her. “Surely you’re tired of this, darling,” the demon drawls, and slides a hand down its body suggestively. “I can make it all go away, make it so much better for you. You can be happy with Fenris again.” The demon shifts and in its place stands Fenris, blue and whole.

It opens its arms wide towards her. “Hawke, come home to me,” it says in the voice that makes her heart ache and for a moment, she thinks she will do it. She wants to bury herself into his arms, surrender to the dream, and end the torment. But then she snarls and turns away. She hears the demon laughing behind her.

It is not the first demon to taunt her, and it will not be the last. Hawke cannot keep track of time that passes while she is stuck in the Fade, and she wonders how long it’s been going on. She doesn’t know why she isn’t dead yet. She hasn’t eaten anything, she certainly hasn’t drank anything and she’s hardly even slept. She picks at the dead skin around her fingernails. The once pink nails have now turned a sickish green. Even her skin has started to take up the color of the Fade.

She thinks she will disappear soon. The Fade will simply swallow her up. She tries not to think about it. She hugs her arms around herself and begins to walk. She wanders aimlessly, with no destination in mind. Sometimes, she thinks of someone and the Fade races around her and plants her in front of the object of her thoughts. Today she thinks of Aveline, and how it would be nice to be carried by her, finding each step more difficult than the last.

The Fade folds and Hawke finds herself in the guard-Captain’s office, where Aveline leans against her desk, Donnic whispering naughty things into ear and making her giggle like a shy schoolgirl. Aveline turns and sees her, and the image of Donnic disappears. Aveline draws her shield, and her sword and points it at her, and tells Hawke that she is dead. Hawke covers her face with her hands and the image slips away. She wonders what demon will torment her next.

Hawke tries not to think of Fenris, she can’t bear it. Each time a demon comes to her wearing his face makes it harder for Hawke to say no. Her once iron resolve is slipping. She sits at a table she recognizes, in the kitchen of her home. Fenris sits across from her, stares, and says nothing. His voice hurts, but the silence is even worse. Her face twists and she begins to cry. The Fenris thing looks pained and asks, “why must you torment me, demon?” She slams her fists to the table and stands, raging that _he_ is the demon and _your tricks will not fool me_! It looks shocked, and then it dissolves with the rest of the estate.

A rage demon walks beside her and coos at how precious she is. She is so valuable, so treasured. No demon will kill her. The temptation of leaving the Fade in a physical host is too tempting. She must be protected. If only she would let him in, he would banish the bad dreams and keep her warm and safe. She screams, her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut, until it leaves.

 _Did you think you mattered, Hawke?_ No, she didn’t. _Did you think anything you ever did mattered?_ Everything she touched turned to ash. _You couldn’t even save your city._ Mages and Templars, fighting in the streets, abominations at every corner. _How could you expect to strike down a god?_ Her father managed to seal him, why didn’t she do the same? _Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about._ The Arishok, the war, red lyrium, the blight, she pulled him into the path of danger. _You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it._ Yes.

She regrets reading the letter, she regrets leaving the ruins, she regrets going from the arms of her lover. Most of all, she regrets staying behind. It was only a noble sacrifice if you actually died and Hawke couldn’t even do that right. Instead, it was just pathetic. She wishes the Inquisitor had chosen someone else.

The Fade twists and folds, and she stands on the battlements of Skyhold. In front of her is what she thinks is Lavellan. The anchor is bright and sparks constantly, and it is no longer contained in his hand. His whole arm is swallowed up and cracked, and she can see the green lines like veins on his neck. He turns his head and looks at her, and she can see that one eye is glowing, with no pupils, just endless green. He moves towards her. He raises the hand so malformed by the spread of the anchor, and grasps her arm. The pain shrieks inside of her and she cannot stop herself from crying out. She begs for him to let her go. She just wants the pain to stop.

This is it, she thinks, this is the end. She will die howling like a dog. The Fade shifts and tugs, but still the demon that wears the face of Lavellan does not let her go. It feels as though a thousand hands are upon her, stretching and pulling in every direction. Lavellan breaks apart, his midsection opening like a Rift. He drags her through.

Hawke re-enters Thedas screaming, on the bed of the Inquisitor, a Rift above her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Hopefully you're not too mad after the last chapter! You're not off this crazy train yet though!
> 
> Happy to talk at[ my tumblr ](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)  
> & [ music playlist! ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9BED_fEuBDhEeHOGu1fwDw9qIXJd2Z52)


	10. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Inquisition - Tresspasser
> 
> “I am yours,” Fenris says to her, and buries his face in his hands.

On the second anniversary of her death, Fenris carries two bouquets to the statue. Over the years, he has brought her every single flower in existence. All except for white lilies. He climbs the base of the statue, as usual, and puts a bouquet by each foot. He opens his bag and eats as the sun begins to rise over the horizon. He tells Hawke that Varric’s received a letter from the Inquisition. He’s to go back to Skyhold, and then to the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. An Exalted Council has been called and he must testify because of his involvement.

The Chantry re-construction has been completed, and it is glorious in its splendor. Sebastian will be arriving in a few days to see it and take confession. Fenris admits to her that Sebastian has been a good friend to him and he is looking forward to seeing the priest. They exchange letters often. Less so with Isabela and Merrill, but every once in a while a package shows up at his door. Little mementos of where they’ve been, and he displays each and every one. Even the dragon skull.

Aveline has cut her hair short, finding maintaining her ginger hair far too annoying. Donnic’s hair is still as long as ever and he still looks at her like she is his goddess. Fenris is happy for them, and enjoys their weekly card games. They are good people, better friends, and he would be lost without them. Carver wrote him only once, to tell him that Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden are close to finding a cure for the Calling. If Hawke had not stayed to cover Alistair’s escape, they may never have found it. Hawke has saved the Grey Wardens. She’s saved Carver.

Fenris leans back against the statue, curled up and safe and takes a book from his bag. Varric has given him the day off, and Fenris intends to use it well. _Come find me when you need me_. He still has her letter, well-worn and ink fading. He still needs her and this is the closest place he can come to finding her. He finds her in the soft breeze, the sound of waves, and gentle light that touches his face. He touches the scarf on his wrist. He carries her with him.

He opens the book against his knees and begins to read. The rest of the world wakes while he is buried in the book, and he barely hears the chatter through his concentration. Many people pass before the statue and pay Fenris no mind. He is a regular sight to those who work at the docks. He is grateful that in all the years of coming to the statue, not one person has ever tried to bother him. He’s not sure if that’s because they knew who he was, or were just scared of him. Either way, it didn’t matter.

It is Aveline who finds him, her face stricken and pale. She calls his name and asks him to get down so that she can talk to him face to face. He is puzzled, but does as she asks. She puts her hands on his shoulders, her own shoulders slumped, and her face downcast. She is unable to look him in the eyes. He worries then, touching a hand to her arm. “Aveline?”

She drags her eyes to his and swallows with great difficulty. “They’ve found her. They found Hawke,” she chokes out. All other sounds crash away, and all he can hear is buzzing in his head. His legs weaken, and he drops to his knees, Aveline still holding onto him and calling his name. He is wide eyed and incredulous and only vaguely aware of Aveline shaking him. Donnic takes one of Fenris’s arms and throws it over his shoulders. He reaches his other arm around Fenris’s waist and he pulls the elf to his feet. Together, he and Aveline walk the still silent Fenris back to the Amell estate.

Varric is already there, his head in his hands, the letter from the Inquisition in front of him. Donnic deposits a despondent Fenris into a chair, where Varric gently calls his name. Fenris looks up at Varric, his eyes red-rimmed but dry. Varric tells him that Fenris will be coming with him when he leaves for Skyhold. Something that has moved up in the timetable. They’ve already packed for him. They’re leaving now.

* * *

 

“Amatus.” Dorian is sitting on the bed, beside a sleeping Lavellan. He gives Lavellan’s cheek a gentle brush. With his free hand, Dorian reaches for the hand that does not carry the anchor, and squeezes it gently. Lavellan is slow to wake, and it gets more difficult each passing day. When his eyes finally open, he gives Dorian a reassuring smile. One of his eyes glows like the anchor, the mark having spread throughout his body. His hand and arm bears the worst of it, now a mangled mess of oozing and sparkling green. It causes Lavellan a great deal of pain, and the smile he gives Dorian fades into a wince.

“Amatus, Varric and Fenris have arrived, if you’ve the strength to greet them,” Dorian tells him softly, not relinquishing the hand he is currently holding. He watches as Lavellan mulls over Dorian’s words and gives a short shake of his head.

“Please, tell them I’m sorry,” Lavellan says, barely able to bring his voice above a whisper. Dorian smiles at him and assures him that he will greet them on the Inquisitor’s behalf. Lavellan apologizes to Dorian, he does not mean to make him worry. Dorian simply shakes his head and tells his lover to get some rest. It does not take long. He simply closes his eyes.

Dorian’s breathing shudders and he hunches over, pressing Lavellan’s hand to his forehead. He feels the walls of the dam tremble and quickly pulls it all back in. He stands and tells Krem and the rest of the Bull’s Chargers that he’ll be back later. Krem only nods. Lavallen is no longer allowed to sleep on his own. Too many times the mark has activated while he slept, raining demons down upon them. And once, a Champion.

When Dorian reaches the great hall, he sees Commander Cullen talking to a very worried looking Varric. Behind him, paces an elf with white hair and tattoos made of lyrium. “The anchor is consuming him, Varric. The best we can hope for is that he makes it through the Exalted Council. He’s been killing himself trying to close all the Rifts before, ah, before he cannot. Now, the only Rifts he closes are the ones the anchor makes,” Cullen tells Varric in a low tone.

“Well, shit,” the dwarf says, rubbing his forehead. Dorian takes his place beside Cullen and greets Varric. Cullen asks if the Inquisitor will come to greet them as well. Dorian tells them that the Inquisitor is currently indisposed. Fenris has not stopped pacing, and glowers at them under a furrowed brow.

“I must warn you that Hawke is… she is much changed,” Cullen says, rubbing the back of his neck. Fenris rounds on him and demands that he take him to her. He wants her back, back where she is meant to be. Safe with him. The Inquisition dares to keep her from him.

“She is understandably quite distressed from her time in the Fade,” Dorian says. “Thus far, we have not been successful in holding a proper conversation with her. We’ve also had, ah, an extreme amount of difficulty convincing her that she is not still in the Fade. The only one she’ll talk to is Cole.”

“Who is this Cole?” Fenris snarls.

“This isn’t real, this isn’t real, you’re not real. She wants you to be. Wandering, wishing, not understanding that it is giving her what she wants. She wants you while you dream and calls you a demon,” the voice is soft and lilting and Fenris whirls to find its source. A mousy looking boy, eyes hidden under a large hat and golden locks.

“Cole is a spirit of compassion, but he’s not like Anders or Justice,” Varric explains, putting a hand on Fenris’s arm out of caution, in case Fenris decides to rid the world of one more ‘abomination’.

“He means that the Fade reacts to a person’s will. So if she thought of you, it would do its best to show you to her. It allowed her to enter people’s dreams,” Dorian explains, but Fenris barely hears him. _You’re not real. I wish you were. I wish you would kill me._ No. No, no, no. Fenris stiffens and thinks of all the times he dreamed of Hawke, not the Hawke he remembered but the ghost of her that flittered through his nightmares.

“You didn’t know,” Cole says, “you didn’t know that it was really her.” But he should have. He should have saved her sooner. He should have marched to Skyhold and _demanded_ they save her. He needs to see her. He needs to see her now. Cullen and Dorian exchange a worried look as Fenris orders them to take him to Hawke. Cole disappears.

They lead Varric and Fenris to one of the rooms overlooking the gardens, far away from any other occupied room. Dorian says that it is best they see her one at a time. They do not want to overwhelm her any more than she already is. Varric knows how badly Fenris wants to see her but asks him anyway that he see her first. Fenris scoffs angrily, but Varric raises his arms in peace and talks the elf down. “If anything, I just want to give you a little heads up,” he says. With the way Cullen and Dorian have been acting, Varric knows it’s bad. He just wants to know how bad. Fenris struggles with this, but eventually agrees, waving his hands in anger.

“She lived in the Fade itself for years. You know what the anchor is doing to Lavellan, and he only has a whisper of the Fade coming through his hand. We don’t yet know the full effect of living in the Fade has on a person, but all evidence points to… well, no things good. We’re looking into it the best we can, but this is new territory,” Cullen says, fishing a key from inside his coat, and moves to unlock the door.

“You keep her locked up like a prisoner?” Fenris yells, moving towards Cullen but Dorian intervenes, stepping in between the two and putting more distance between them.

“It’s for her own protection. She has been… quite unstable,” Dorian says.

“The Fade affected her so profoundly that she has not been able to cast any magic, thank the Maker, but she is confused and dangerous,” Cullen says. Fenris continues to glower, but turns away from the door and leans over the balcony to stare at the garden below. Varric opens the door to her room and disappears inside.

Dorian leans over the balcony with Fenris. “She hasn’t given us a reason to post guards. Cole has stayed with her the moment the Inquisitor pulled her back. He said he could feel the hurt inside her,” he says while Fenris stays silent. “She wouldn’t talk to us, and I don’t think she really talks to Cole either. He can just _feel_ what she needs. The first thing Cole told us was to get you here as soon as possible.” Fenris rubs his face with his hand, and keeps it on his forehead, covering his eyes.

Cullen tells them he’s sorry, but he really must return to compiling his reports for the Exalted Council, even though he thinks it will be a waste of time. Nonetheless, he will be prepared. He presses the key into Fenris’s hands and tells him that it was good to see him again, despite the circumstances. Moments pass in silence, and Fenris and Dorian can hear quiet murmuring from Varric, but nothing else. When he exits the room, closing the door behind him, he looks pale and his mouth is in a downturn. He asks if he can speak to Fenris for a moment. They move to the side, away from Dorian and away from the door.

“Look, I know how hard losing her was for you and I know how much you want her back, but… I say this as your friend. Go home, Fenris. Whatever _that_ is, it’s not Hawke,” Varric says, and he looks at Fenris so sincerely, so concerned for his well-being, and all Fenris feels is anger. _Come find me when you need me_. She needed him now.

“I will not abandon her,” is all Fenris says on the matter. _Nothing is going to keep me from you_ he told her once, and he intends to keep his promise. He hears Varric sigh and oh Maker, I’m so sorry Fenris, as Fenris turns and walks to the door. His hand is on the doorknob and he pauses. Dorian goes to Varric, and Fenris hears him say that they should talk more about Lavellan. They leave, and he is alone, the teeth of the key biting into his palm. He tucks it into his pocket and opens the door.

The room is dark, with no candles lit and the shades drawn over the window. A figure sits huddled on the bed, its back towards the door and faces the corner of the room. Blankets are drawn around it, like a hooded cloak. The figure still shivers. Fenris tugs on the shades and light pours into the room. The figure whimpers and the blanket is drawn over it even closer. Fenris reaches out a hand, and gently pulls down the blanket.

The figure stays where it is, knees pulled up to its chin, its hands over its head. He touches a shoulder with a trembling hand, and it recoils from him, pressing against the wall as tight as possible, fear and despair in equal measure on her face. Her hair is long, wild and grey. Her blue eyes have been replaced with green ones that shine. She is thin, she is pale, and she is terrified of him. “No, no, no, not him, please!” Hawke says, hugging her arms to herself.

He kneels beside the bed and tells her he’s come for her. That she is safe now, with him. She cries and begs him to leave her be. Then her face twists and she is angry, _begone demon_ and she snarls. She stands on the bed and shouts that they will not have her. “I am yours,” Fenris says to her, and buries his face in his hands.

He closes the door and locks it behind him. He finds Dorian in the great hall, his arms crossed and looking at him sympathetically. “We could hear her shouting, I’m sorry. We guessed that your presence would draw the strongest reaction,” he says. “She thinks we’re all demons.” Fenris’s hands shake and he curls them into a fist and wills them to stop. He asks Dorian if they have a library. Dorian leads the way. He tells Fenris how they’ve been researching as much as they could.

They sent letters to Divine Victoria, and asked if Leliana could see if there were any books in the grand cathedral that refers to anything about the Fade. They had already been researching long before Hawke’s appearance, to deal with the anchor on Lavellan’s hand. Dorian had been in Tevinter, trying to change things and in all Lavellan’s letters he had not told him how bad it was. It was Cassandra who told him, saying that Lavellan had sworn them all to secrecy but Dorian really must come to Skyhold. He raced to his lover’s side, not unlike how Fenris had raced to Hawke’s.

Fenris walks the library, his fingers sliding over bound leather and his eyes scanning the titles. He pulls out only a few. They are not books to research, to explain, like Dorian had guessed. They are story books, and all have happy endings. He asks Dorian if there is a kitchen. He thanks the servants who give him a basket filled with pastries and breads, sweets he knows are Hawke’s favorites. He also takes a water skin with him, as well as matches to light the candles in her room. He thanks Dorian for his aid, and disappears back to Hawke.

She is sitting on the bed still, her legs crossed, her back against the wall. The blanket is over her shoulders and yet she still shivers. He has to open the shades once again, and a hand raises to cover her eyes as she winces. He puts the basket on the table beside the bed, pulls up a chair and sits. He puts the books on the floor, and pulls one out at random. He opens the basket, and pushes a cupcake towards her. Then he opens the book and begins to read.

He does not pause when she tries to interrupt him, saying that it is cruel to twist her favorite memories like this. When he does not stop, she presses her hands against her ears and says that she will not listen to the words of demons. He continues to read and she falls silent. Her hands reach out, and she touches the cupcake with a finger. She pulls it back to her mouth and tastes the sweetness of the frosting. She wonders if this is another trick, another temptation. But her stomach growls, as it has for the past week when it had not in two years. She pulls the cupcake to her and eats it like it will be snatched away from her at any moment. His eyes not leaving the page, his voice not ceasing, he takes the water skin and places it on the bed, beside another cupcake. She takes them both greedily.

He reads as the sun falls and darkness grows, necessity having him light the candles so that he may continue. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Hawke wonder at the flame. She reaches out her hand toward it, and he does not stop her. She yelps and recoils when the fire brings pain to her fingertip. She places it in her mouth and puzzles over the sensation. All fire in the Fade was mere reflection and had never hurt her before. She will learn, Fenris thinks, she will learn this is real.

He can see her eyelids beginning to close, and he can see her fighting sleep. She has eaten almost everything he had brought with him, and downed the water quickly. He makes a note to himself to bring more variety in foods tomorrow. He watches her slide her back down the wall, her head finding the pillow. She blinks at him through gently glowing eyes, and then she closes them. Her breathing slows and her limbs relax, and Fenris puts the book down when he is sure she is asleep.

He sits carefully on the bed beside her, and lovingly smooths hair away from her face. Their hair almost matches now, although hers is still a bit darker. He takes one of her hands and holds it in his. She had taught him so many things. How to trust, how to read, how to love. He would teach her how to live again. He stayed with her through the night, leaning back in the chair and falling asleep. He wanted to be there when she woke. He closed his eyes and the darkness took him.

He woke to hands clawing at his legs. His eyes opened with a start and he saw Hawke on her knees in front of him, her face turned up towards him, her eyes wide with fear. “They’re coming for me Fenris, they want me back, I can’t- I can’t. What manner of demon are you? I accept whatever bargain you offer. Let me stay here with him,” she cries out. He nearly falls out of the chair, it scrapes against the floor as he pushes it away, to kneel beside her and pull her into his arms. She huddles there, shaking and crying, her hands wound in his shirt.

“This is real, Hawke. You are no longer in the Fade. _I_ am real,” he whispers, even though he knows that she will not believe him. “I remain at your side.” He holds her through the rest of the night, although they both do not sleep again. She is too afraid of demons that lurk outside the door, ones who would show her nightmares instead of this dream. He is afraid for her.

In the morning, he assures her that he will return soon, with more food. Her arms cling to his and she begs him not to leave her. He kisses her forehead and promises he will return. He locks the door behind him. He wanders the great hall, not sure exactly who he is looking for. He sees a woman dressed in gold talking to servants, paper in her arms and a quill in her hands. “Excuse me, I was wondering who I may speak to about procuring a few items,” he asks her when the servants scurry away to do whatever she had asked.

“Oh! Messere Fenris, so pleased to meet you,” she says, putting the quill down on her pad and sticking out her free hand to shake his. “My name is Josephine, I am an advisor to the Inquisitor, just like Commander Cullen. I would be happy to find anything you need.” He thanks her graciously, and requests a warm bath, and items for grooming. She asks if he wants it in his room. He tells her he would like it in Hawke’s. He asks her for fresh clothes for Hawke, warm ones. Josephine tells him everything he wanted would be delivered within the hour.

He walks to the kitchen, and thanks the staff again for filling another basket with food. This time with fruit, some bacon and as always, cupcakes. He takes two water skins this time, and goes back to her room, his arms full with things for her. They share the food together, and she allows him to sit on the bed with her. She is quiet, and they devour the food in silence. There is a knock at the door, which shakes Hawke to the core. He moves to stand, and feels her hands on his back, twisting into his tunic, trying to pull him back.

“It’s the other demons, they’re here to _take_ me,” she cries. He promises that nothing would be able to keep her from him. She stands with him, and winds her arms around him, her hands curled in fists at his chests, her eyes barely peaking over his shoulder. He opens the door and greets the servants there, who lug a large tub into the room. They fill it with water, and a mage casts a simple heating spell over it. Fenris can feel her whole body shaking with fear. One has his arms filled with clothes, and they place them on the bed. The rest of the supplies he asked for are beside the tub. Fenris thanks them all for their service and then he closes the door behind them.

Fenris helps her undress, pulling the shift she is wearing over her shoulders. He manages to hold back his shock, and his despair when he sees her standing naked before him. She is thinner than he first thought, able to see every rib. She is now crisscrossed with scars, and covered in deep purple bruises. He guesses that they were larger wounds, the bruises the only mark left by healing. He takes her arm and helps her into the tub, and she sinks into it gratefully.

She says nothing as he takes soap and a washcloth to her skin, and washes her with tender hands. He asks her to lean back fully, and she does. He cups water and pours it over the top of her head, making sure to get none in her eyes. When her hair is fully wet, he asks her to sit up again and he scrubs soap into her hair. When he is satisfied, he helps her stand and get out of the tub. He rubs her dry and dresses her in the clothes that they have given him. He helps her into her smallclothes, and she sits as he pulls socks onto her feet. He helps her into trousers that are too large for her, and a sweater that hangs baggy on her frame. They sit on the floor together as he brushes her hair, working any knots from it. He asks her if she would like to cut it. She says no. He braids it for her, to keep it from getting in the way.

She sits back on the bed, cross-legged and hands hidden inside the sleeves of the sweater. She looks clean now, and more comfortable. She no longer shivers with cold. He sits on the bed with her and opens the book to where they left off the day before. She comes to his side shyly, and eventually she is sitting in his lap while he reads. Her head is buried in the crook between his neck and shoulder, her legs draped over his. Her hand is on his chest, fisted into his tunic. She is loath to let him go. He holds her close and continues reading.

Fenris settles her into a routine. They wake together, he fetches food, servants bring in fresh water, he bathes her and then they read together. It takes weeks for her to stop shaking every time the servants came for the bath. One night, he asks her where she thinks she is. For the first time, she struggles with the answer, whereas every other time had been met with a steady answer of ‘the Fade’. She confesses that the Fade has never stayed the same for so long.

On his morning trip to the kitchens, he is stopped by Varric. They’re leaving for the Exalted Council. Varric asks if they’ll still be there when they get back. Fenris nods, not wishing to move her just yet. The side door in the great hall opens, and he sees Dorian, his arm around the waist of an elf. The elf’s eyes are half closed, and he is leaning on Dorian heavily. Although his arm is wrapped by cloth bandages, Fenris can see the light that flickers underneath and the green lines like veins that trail up his neck. The elf opens his eyes and one of them almost looks like Hawke’s, although his are fully green and give off light like veilfire.

Dorian keeps his arm around his waist even as the elf stretches his hand toward Fenris. “You must be the one I’ve heard so much about. Pleased to meet you, Fenris. I am Lavellan,” he says as they shake. Lavellan is pale and green around the edges. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come see you sooner. I was busy trying not to die,” his words are blunt and Dorian winces.

Fenris tells him it is an honor to meet the Inquisitor and thanks him for bringing Hawke back. Lavallen’s face twists with pain and guilt. He should have searched the Fade for her, found some way to bring her back sooner, before she… before she was too far gone. Fenris shakes his head and says he is grateful she is here and he will stitch the broken pieces of her back together.

When they leave, it almost seems as though Skyhold is completely empty, except for the few servants who scurry around. Josephine has left instructions that they are to do whatever Fenris asks. He does not ask much of them. The days press on, and Hawke begins to look stronger, even restless with being in the room all the time. He decides that he will take her to the gardens. It is harder to do than he imagined.

Hawke protests and cries, and pulls on Fenris’s arm to keep him in the room with her. She is afraid that when he opens the door, the illusion will shatter and she will be back in the Fade. He sees their weeks of progress slip away as she reverts back to the scared figure on the bed, covering herself in the safety of blankets. He relents and wraps her in the blankets, like a snug cocoon. He whispers soft words to her and her tears begin to dry and the shaking begins to stop. She screams when he tosses her over his shoulder, trapped in the blanket he wrapped her in. He opens the door and takes her outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 I love all your sweet comments!
> 
> You can find me at[ my tumblr!](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


	11. All of My Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Tresspasser
> 
> She smiles with delight, and for the first time in a long time, she kisses him. It is only a whisper of a kiss, the lightest touch of lips against his. It lasts for only a moment, but it feels like a lifetime.

Fenris carries Hawke over his shoulder and she protests the whole way, struggling to free herself. There is a small tree in the center of the garden and it is there that he takes her. He holds onto her tight as he lets her off his shoulders, sensing that she is ready to flee, ready to run back to the room. The blanket falls to the ground around her and he holds onto her wrists with his hands as she attempts to free herself. He forces her to sit, her back leaning against his chest, his hands still holding onto her, crossing their arms together. She squirms and rocks, but her cries eventually fade into silence.

The sun is bright and warm, and it flickers through the leaves above them. Fenris does not say anything, not wishing to push her any more than he already has. He can feel how tense she is, and she does not relax for a very long time. Eventually, he feels her fingers pull on the loose fabric of the scarf around his wrist. His forehead drops to her shoulder, the feeling all too familiar and for the first time, painful.

“For me, it wasn’t like your mother. I was mad later. I told you that I could not bear the thought of living without you. I was foolish, and said some unworthy things to our friends. Carver punched me in the face. I was mad at you then. I was mad that you left, mad that you broke your promise. You _died_ , Hawke. You died and left me alone,” he said the words to her shoulder and she does not break her grip on the scarf.

“You have returned to me, Hawke, even if you do not think so. I will show you, I will prove it to you somehow. You are not in the thrall of some demon. I am _yours_ ,” he says, his voice breaking. He feels her give in, and her body relaxes. He leans against the tree, and she leans against him, and he keeps his arms wrapped around her. He feels her breath on his neck and she presses her forehead against his cheek.

Fenris adds this to their daily routine. He has to pull her each and every time, her hand in his and her steps uncertain. They sit the same way each time, and eventually, he begins to bring books with them and reads to her. She rests in his arms whether the sun is shining or they are huddled under a blanket to protect themselves from the rain. They find solace in the familiar and he stumbles over words he knows just so he can ask her for help. Whether she realizes this or not, she kindly tells him the word each and every time without question. She asks him about Kirkwall.

He tells her about Aveline and Donnic, and their now yearly vacations. Sebastian visits often, and he is a welcome presence in the Chantry. She snorts when he says Varric is the Viscount and that he is Varric’s pseudo-secretary. He tells her about Isabela’s big hat and the dragon skull she and Merrill sent him. He tells her about the cure for the calling, and the years added to Carver’s life.

They begin to take walks around Skyhold, her hand always crushing his, always tucked in by his side. The servants greet him, and he them, and Hawke only grips a little tighter and hides behind him. He takes her to the stables, and she fondly pets each and every horse. Something else to add to their routine. She begins to accompany him to the kitchens, her small voice requesting certain foods and recipes.

The trumpets sound, announcing the return of the Inquisitor. They go to the courtyard together, and while he stands tall and waits, she is small and afraid behind him. There is a long stream of soldiers who enter, but eventually, Fenris can see the Inquisitor and his inner circle approaching. Lavellan is now missing an arm, having amputated it after the anchor was forcibly removed by one he had considered a friend. His eye is back to normal, and even the green lines have begun to fade. He can see how relieved Dorian is at this. The Inquisitor informs him that the Inquisition has been dissolved and he will be going to Tevinter to marry and stay with his lover. Fenris congratulates them both.

“Hey Birdie,” Varric says softly to Hawke. She is shy and tentatively reaches out a hand, and with the barest of touches, brushes her hand against his face, trying to determine if he is real. Fenris gives her hand a small squeeze of encouragement.

“Hello, Varric,” she says softly. Varric smiles and says it’s good to see her looking more like herself. He’s going to be heading back to Kirkwall soon, and says that he can arrange travel for them both. They cannot stay forever at Skyhold. Fenris thanks him and says he will talk to him about it soon.

“This dream does not end. Could it be real? It _is_ ,” Cole says, underneath his big hat, and presents Hawke with a long-flowing scarf of red. She allows the spirit to drape it gently around her neck. “Remember. Do not forget this. Yours matches his now.” She buries her face in the scarf and smiles.

Skyhold is busy now, preparing to break the Inquisition to pieces. Fenris talks to Varric and decide that they will leave for Kirkwall together with Hawke. He packs on behalf of Hawke, Josephine telling him to keep all that they had given him. The day before they leave, they sit in the garden together and he brushes her hair. While he braids it, he hums and puts flowers in her hair. She smiles with delight, and for the first time in a long time, she kisses him. It is only a whisper of a kiss, the lightest touch of lips against his. It lasts for only a moment, but it feels like a lifetime.

Hawke does better on the ship than Fenris thought she would. She leans over the railings to look at the water below, enough that Fenris worries and he places a hand on the small of her back, in case he needs to drag her back over. She closes her eyes and smiles, facing the direction of the wind. Sea water splashes on her face and she laughs. She says she’s glad the water isn’t green. She turns to him and smiles, and he sees that the green in her eyes is cracking, giving way to the hints of blue underneath.

She sleeps in his arms, and tells him that she misses her magic. She has tried to use it, but she reaches for a well that is no longer there. He tells her to give it time. He reads her to sleep. She has a nightmare, and it is that first day all over again. Fenris corners her in the hold, as she cries and tries to run from him. He crushes her to him and whispers in her ear. _I am yours, I am yours, I am yours._ She finds her way back to him and tells him she’s sorry. She has nothing to apologize for, he tells her.

Varric mostly leaves them be, but occasionally brings her some food. She thanks him graciously and although she hasn’t decided whether or not he’s a demon, she’s glad that at least his chest hair is accurate. He can’t tell if she’s joking until she gives him a small wink. He wants to hug her then, although he does not, but later tells Fenris that it’s _her_ , it’s really her. Fenris smiles.

Her steps off the boat are small and uncertain, and she holds tightly to Fenris’s arm. Her hand finds his and he gives her a small squeeze. She looks at everything, like she’s a tourist coming to Kirkwall for the first time, and he can hear her gasp when she sees the rebuilt points of the Chantry. Varric must go and find out what he’s missed, but he’s available for them any time. Fenris thanks him for all that he has done. “Aw, shucks, anything for my favorite broody couple,” he says as he waves at them and leaves.

Hawke is stuck on the doorstep of the estate, staring at the contents within. He takes her other arm and guides her in. He walks backwards so that if ever she is uncertain, she can turn away from the estate and look at him instead. She looks at all the trinkets Fenris has been sent over the years and guffaws at the dragon skull hanging over the fireplace. Books are _everywhere_ , spilling from the library and covering every inch of furniture. He sheepishly apologizes, but she says it’s amazing.

Fenris tucks her into her bed, and she sinks into it as though it is a cloud. He moves to sit on the chair beside the bed, but she grabs his hand and asks him to stay. He does. He crawls into the bed beside her, and they lie on their sides and face each other, hands intertwined between them. She confesses that being in Kirkwall does not feel real. So many of her nightmares were featured here. Hawke tells him of all the demons which tempted her, their favorite vision to torment her with being him. They showed her all the ways she could fail him. She says she’s sorry and that maybe she should have stayed in the Fade, but she just wanted to see him. She feels like a fool and wanted to be happy again. Just for a little while.

She asks him to make her feel normal again. He tells her he doesn’t know how. She slides closer to him, so close, her nose touching his. Her kiss is hesitant and tender, as though she’s asking permission. They undress each other slowly, and when the last garment slips from her shoulders, she is suddenly shy. She drapes an arm across her face, to cover her eyes. He traces the Arishok scar with his finger, and all other scars she has acquired. Her long grey hair hangs over her, and he gently brushes it out of the way. He stretches over her and pulls her arm away, and loosens the lip she is chewing with his thumb. He lets his digit trace the outline of her mouth and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. “You are so beautiful Hawke,” he murmurs, and means it. Her eyes flicker open, and he is met with a familiar blue ocean.

His body presses against hers, and she gasps when he finds her neck with his lips. She shakes under his touch and he asks if she is sure this is what she wants. “Please,” she asks, and guides him inside of her. She is so warm, and it has been so long. She tells him she is his and rolls her hips, setting the pace for both of them. They move slowly together, and he keeps his arms around her. She holds his face in her hands and reaches for his lips when she needs them.

They sleep tangled together, and for a moment, it is like nothing had changed and they had never left Kirkwall. He marvels at this second chance they have together and holds her tighter to him. Never again will he let her go from his sight. He makes breakfast for them both and she laughs as she watches him leap away from sizzling bacon. They wash up together and he braids her hair. She holds the braid in her hand and says it makes her look much older than she is. He teases they should dye it purple, but she seriously considers it.

Aveline cries when she sees Hawke, and Hawke allows the guard-captain to swallow her in an embrace. She didn’t shed tears at her own wedding, but here she was crying and telling Hawke how good it was to see her. Donnic grasps Fenris’s shoulders and smiles, saying he is happy Hawke has returned to him. Hawke holds Fenris’s hand as he shows her the rebuilt Chantry, and the plaque written in her honor, for all the lives she saved.

They walk to the docks in the afternoon, she puts her hands on his shoulders and he lifts her by the waist so that she may sit on the statue. He climbs up after her. She leans her head on his shoulder and listens as he tells her how the statue had been his place of refuge. They watch the sun set together, hand in hand, and he drapes her shoulders in the shawl he brought for her, nestled around the scarf from Cole.

At home, they sit together in the library in front of the fire and she leans into him as he reads to her. He carries her to bed in his arms and she teases that she feels like a bride. Whereas before, those nights in the tent and in the ruins, it was easy to tell if she was having a nightmare, he now only finds out in the morning. She slips from their bed and heaves into the chamber pot and waves away his concerns.

There are a few bad days, slipped in between the many good ones. Days where she asks him where she is and what manner of demon is he to keep her prisoner. Days where she huddles in a corner and puts her hands over her ears and begs him to leave her be. He tells her he will remain at her side, as always, and waits for her to find her way back to him. The moments afterwards are filled with apologies but he shushes her and rocks her in his arms.

Isabela and Merrill come to stay with them, and tells them the Inquisition has been fully dismantled. At least, on the surface. Isabela reveals she suspects the Inquisitor is still in touch with the Divine and her other advisors, all separate but all preparing for a war they think is on the horizon. Hawke is silent, and looks at her hands folded in her lap. When she has gone to bed, Fenris scolds them for saying such things to her. She doesn’t need to worry about another war.

Merrill brings Hawke seeds from all corners of Thedas, and she helps her plant them in the estate’s garden. She smiles and laughs, and Merrill rubs a streak of dirt across Hawke’s nose and calls her fierce. They do not mention her absence, the Fade, or the Inquisition. They especially do not mention the times they can hear her crying to Fenris that there are demons in the house wearing their faces. They bring her onto their ship and they take her for sailing for a day. She decides that she loves boats, much to Isabela’s delight.

Huddled in bed together she asks Fenris if he ever thought about having children. He is surprised and asks her if she wants them. She hesitates and confesses that she does not think she would make a good mother. He disagrees. She says she would not want them to grow up being called a demon by their own mother. He presses a kiss to her forehead and tells her she is all he ever wanted and he would not give that up for anything.

The years press on and the flowers bloom in the garden. She wears dresses and her shawl and teases that she’s an old maid now. She walks barefoot through the grass as he sits and watches her from the step. She plucks a flower and tucks it behind his ear. He wraps his arms around her, and pulls her close, his head resting against her belly. She runs her fingers through his hair, affectionate and tender strokes. He feels at peace with her.

When Carver comes, it is without warning. He enters the kitchen while they are in the middle of breakfast and Hawke rises fast from her seat. Without a word, he scoops her up in his arms and tells her she looks like their mother. She laughs and tells him she’s not that old, yet. He says he’s glad she’s not getting herself into any more trouble at least. She says that’s because she’s under a very watchful eye. Fenris grunts.

Carver apologizes for not coming to see her sooner. He says he’s been made Warden-Commander of Ferelden, as Alistair and the Hero have both retired from the Wardens. He says that he decided he had enough authority to give himself a small vacation. She squeezes his hands and tells him she’s so proud of him. She knows he’ll be brilliant leading the Wardens.

Carver buys her a large sunhat, to go with her old lady look, he says. He means it to tease her, but she loves it anyway. She wears it anywhere they go, whether it be to the market or to tend to the plants in the garden. Another constant is the scarf from Cole, she wears it no matter the temperature, just as Fenris has always worn the scarf around his wrist. Carver tells them it’s embarrassing how much they match.

Carver leaves after a few weeks, needing to return to the Wardens. He promises her that he will write more often. He, after all, now has scribes working for him. She laughs and tells him that she will do the same, although she only has one scribe and his handwriting isn’t very good. Fenris pretends offence at that, saying his handwriting is downright beautiful and it is hers she should be ashamed of. Carver hugs her one last time and is gone.

They both have lines on their faces now, and his knees are sore whenever it rains. Aches and pains are more common now and while he complains of this she smiles. She says all she’s ever wanted is to grow old with him and this is what growing old is all about so stop complaining. He rounds on her and tickles her sides saying old age has made her slow and she will not escape. She falls to the floor laughing and begging for mercy.

She is sicker more often, and most days she only picks at food. He catches her staring off at nothing, a blank look on her face like a trance. Each time all he has to do is call her name and she turns and smiles. He asks her what she was doing but she is confused and does notice the time she is losing. Fenris receives an official looking envelope, stamped with an ornate seal. When he opens it, he finds that it is a letter from Dorian.

Dorian begins his letter with pleasantries, but quickly gets to the point. He describes the same things Hawke is doing, the sickness, the lack of appetite and the loss of time. He knows them all because they are the things the Inquisitor is doing. Dorian suspects it is the influence of Lavellan’s time spent so intimately connected to the Fade and asks if it is happening to Hawke. Fenris writes back immediately.

They begin to write to each other, sharing observation. Soon after Fenris receives a letter stating that the Inquisitor needs aid walking, Hawke’s own ability begins to fail. They select a walking cane and share a pastry in the market together. He has not yet told her about the letters and about the Inquisitor. He does not want to. Dorian suspects Lavellan is feeling the effects sooner than Hawke because the anchor and therefore the Fade was inside of him, poisoning him. Hawke had only an outside influence to contend with.

One night, as they are sitting in the library together, she gently whispers to Fenris, “look!” Her hands are cupped and inside them rests a small, barely living, speck of flame. She cries out of happiness and says she can feel her magic again. He does not know if this is good or bad. She shows Aveline when they come for their weekly dinners and he and the former guard-captain exchange a worried glance. Both she and Donnic have retired from the guard and were regular visitors at the Hawke household. Aveline was the one Fenris confided in about the letters. She advised that he should tell Hawke soon.

Fenris carries her up the stairs to bed every night, she not having the strength anymore. She mourns that the garden will soon be overgrown with weeds as she can no longer tend it as she used to. He promises he will look after it for her. He asks her to marry him. She laughs and wonders, why now? He asks why not? He says he will take her name, not having one of his own, and become a proper Hawke. Still laughing, she agrees and says yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end :>
> 
> Come talk to me at [my tumblr ](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/) :)!


	12. Saturn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
> “Perhaps my presence would have made going into the Fade unnecessary,” he tells her and she laughs.  
> “Think that much of yourself do you? Would you have been able to defeat a red-lyrium blight corrupted dragon?” She teases.  
> “I would defeat much more for you, Hawke,” he says and leans forward to kiss her.

Fenris marries Hawke with flowers in hair. He marries her in their garden, and slips a ring on her finger. “I am yours,” he says and kisses her, pulling her close to him. She giggles with delight and leans into his embrace. She looks up at him and smiles, and he smiles back, memorizing her face. Each gentle curve, each line, the sun in her smile and the ocean in her eyes. _Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you_. But there is something worse. Living without her. He’s done it once and he doesn’t think he can bear to do it again.

Merrill takes Hawke’s hands, smiling, leading her away to dance. Isabela and Merrill support her on both sides and Hawke throws back her head and laughs as Isabela tells her how abysmal her dancing is. She gently smacks Isabela’s rump with her cane. Varric and Donnic are drinking together and telling Sebastian that surely the Maker could forgive one drink. Sebastian had raced to Kirkwall after Fenris had written him, asking him to officiate. He hadn’t even sent a letter of reply, just showed up at their doorstep. Aveline pushes a drink (water) into Fenris’s hands and stands beside him. She tells him he must tell Hawke. He says he knows, and that he will, soon. Not tonight.

Carver could not come. Too busy doing… something. Classified Warden business. Instead a package arrives for them, filled with seeds. Apple seeds, from the trees they used to have in Lothering. Hawke reads his letter and presses it to her chest. She will not say it, but Fenris knows how deeply she misses him. He promises her that he will help her plant them when the time is right. Aveline and Donnic have given them a new bed, one they can put in the library. They worry that Fenris is going to drop her one day carrying her up those stairs and so have removed that possibility.

Merrill and Isabela have brought them a veritable hoard of things that range from books to clothes. They share that they have sold their boat and are going to be living in Kirkwall’s alienage. Merrill is respected there and with her many visits there and how well she looks after them the elves of Kirkwall have named her their Keeper. Isabela teases that she cried when they told her. Hawke takes Merrill’s hand and smiles and tells her that she will be a wonderful Keeper.

Sebastian is finalizing the matter of succession in Starkhaven and then he will be staying in Kirkwall permanently. He has opened a small clinic near the Chantry, all are welcome and it is free for those who come. He has employed mages there, to aid him. He does not say it, but they all know how familiar it feels to the clinic Anders once had. Sebastian had forgiven him a long time ago, and is now honoring the best parts of him.

Varric believes he will be Viscount until he dies in that office. Something he thought Aveline would do as guard-captain. She laughs and tells him things change. She enjoys retirement, although she still shares drinks with the old guard and imparts advice to the new guard-captain. She and Varric reminisce about the time spent putting Kirkwall back together. They brag they have done a damn fine job and toast to each other.

They talk and laugh long into the night, and it feels like they are back at the Hanged Man, relaxing after a hard day. They were so young then, and the world was theirs for the saving. Now they are content just to spend time together. Aveline has talked with all of them and they know they will need to stay close to Kirkwall. The letters that Dorian sends grow darker with each day.

Eventually Hawke’s ability to walk disappears altogether and even a cane will not help her. Fenris carries her wherever she wants to go, but mostly they stay in the library together, nestled in the bed, Fenris reading to her as she smiles at him. He plants the apple seeds in the garden for her, and begins to fill the library with potted plants. Soon they overwhelm the room, just has the books have, and she is delighted. Once again, a singular room has become their whole world.

They sit together in front of the fireplace and she asks him if he regrets anything. He cocks his head and tells her only two things. “I would not have left, that night. The years spent without you were wasted. And I would not have let you leave to go to the Inquisition. At the very least, I should have gone with you.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you stuck in the Fade with me,” she says, shaking her head and leaning back on her palms. She sighs, and her hair spills in a pool around her. The green edges have long since faded from her, but in these moments, Fenris can still feel it inside her, pulling at her. He brushes hair behind her ear, she smiles at him and the green is gone.

“Perhaps my presence would have made going into the Fade unnecessary,” he tells her and she laughs.

“Think that much of yourself do you? Would you have been able to defeat a red-lyrium blight corrupted dragon?” She teases.

“I would defeat much more for you, Hawke,” he says and leans forward to kiss her. He asks her if there is anything she regrets. She confesses that some days her list of regrets runs too long to name and others there are barely any. Never him, though. They were inevitable and she would not have it any other way.

* * *

 

Dorian writes to Fenris one last time. His love has died and he was unable to save him. He cannot write to Fenris anymore. It is too painful. Fenris presses the letter to his chest and bends over the table, his legs quivering. It was always Lavellan first. He knows what is coming for Hawke and despairs. He hears her calling his name, but his legs are moving and he makes his way to Aveline’s door. He shows her the letter and “oh Fenris,” she sighs as she reads it. She reaches out an arm and drapes it over his shoulder before pulling him inside. He sits at her table and buries his face in his hands. Aveline sits across from him and asks him what he’s going to do. He doesn’t know.

“What you’re going to do is go home to your _wife_ and talk to her. Show her all the letters. She deserves to know. Then you’re going to cherish the time you have left with her,” Aveline tells him, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. He doesn’t know how to face her. He doesn’t know how he can face anything without her. Aveline starts when she hears sharp knocking at the door. She opens it to Sebastian breathless and panting, his face red.

“Is Fenris here?” He asks and Aveline shifts so he can see Fenris sitting inside. “Oh, thank the Maker, he’s alright.” Sebastian strolls inside and takes Fenris by the collar and begins to drag him away. Fenris protests and grabs at the priest.

“Sebastian?!”

“Hawke showed up at the clinic. She _dragged_ herself there and said something happened to you but she didn’t know what. She begged me to help her find you. I’ve got runners all over the city looking for you. What were you thinking just leaving?” Sebastian bellows, shaking Fenris by his shirt.

“Sebastian,” Aveline says calmly, “the Inquisitor has passed away.” Sebastian drops Fenris instantly, and his angry expression turns to sadness.

“Oh. Oh, no. May the Maker rest his soul,” Sebastian murmurs.

“Fenris was just on his way back home to tell Hawke,” Aveline says, giving Fenris a meaningful look. “Perhaps you can walk with him and help him get there,” she tells Sebastian. They walk together in silence back to the clinic and when Hawke sees him, she reaches for him instantly.

“Oh Fenris, I thought something terrible had happened,” she says as he drops to his knees and wraps his arms around her waist. Her palms are bandaged and her pants are dirty and torn. He squeezes her a little harder. Even when she was the one so in danger, she was still looking out for him, reaching for him. _I am yours_. He lifts her into his arms and carries her home.

He helps her out of her ruined pants and washes her legs tenderly. He kisses each knee, each scrape, and helps her to bed in fresh clothes. He moves to go get water, but a gentle touch of her hand in his stops him. “Tell me what it is,” she says calmly. He takes a seat on the bed beside her, and brushes wisps of hair out of her face. She leans into his touch and smiles. He takes a few, deep, ragged breaths and his hand shakes in hers. He begs for her forgiveness.

He tells her how Dorian had written to him, observing strange changes in Lavellan’s behavior and his strength. The same changes Fenris observed in Hawke. Dorian’s letters always gave some notice to when the next change would happen to Hawke. He tells her that Lavallen has died and presses her hand to his face. He is weak. He cannot stop his face from twisting and he begs her to stay with him. Just a little longer. Just for a little while longer.

He hears her sigh and feels her free hand run through his hair. “I knew. I’m not blind, Fenris. I knew that being in the Fade that long would have some permanent effect. I knew you were writing to someone, and I guessed that it would have something to do with the Fade. It being Dorian and Lavellan was just logical,” she said, tipping his chin upwards so he had no choice but to look at her face.

“Oh love,” she whispers, and smiles at him sadly. She brushes tears from his face and presses a kiss into his forehead. “I promise I will stay as long as I can.” _I remain at your side_.

* * *

 

They sit in the grass of the garden together, the hat Carver gave her firmly on her head and scarf around her neck. She leans against the tree and his head is on her lap. His hands are folded over his chest and his eyes are closed as she plays with his hair. He knows she is smiling. She tells him the garden is lovely and thanks him for taking care of it. He grunts in response and she laughs.

These are the moments that make him happiest, time spent together in silence, no one else around to bother them. He opens his eyes and she is above him, radiant and happy, looking down upon him with love in her eyes. He reaches up to caress her cheek and he tells her that she is beautiful. Even now, with so many years spent between them and who knows how many times he told her, she still blushes at his words.

At night, they lie on the roof together and it is the old game where she points out the pattern in the stars. She quizzes his memory, and asks him if he remembers their meaning. Even if he does, he tells her he does not just to hear her speak. She teases him lightly and he smiles. He rolls over her and tickles her sides, how dare she tease him, and he cherishes her giggle as she pretends to fight him off.

They lie in bed together and he reads to her by candlelight. She rests her head on his shoulder and traces circles with her thumb against his arm. She tugs at the scarf on his wrist and that is his queue to turn and kiss her. He smiles into her kiss as she rubs his ears gently. “So handsome,” she tells him and he chuckles. Sex is an easy, familiar thing, so attuned to each other they are. It is no less amazing each time and again he cannot help but feel so lucky having her. _I am yours_.

In the morning, she feels something shift. She presses a hand to her chest and tries to pinpoint the feeling of wrong. She is a coward and she is afraid. She doesn’t want to leave him and she doesn’t want to go ahead all alone.

He brings her breakfast and she smiles at him. She asks what the weather is like and he cocks his head and tells her the sun is shining without a cloud in the sky. She asks if they’ll go to the garden later and he agrees, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. They eat together and she is silent as he tells her that Carver has secured some time off and will be coming to Kirkwall soon. She smiles and says that sounds wonderful. They’ll have to make sure the guest room is clean. He holds her hair back as her stomach turns and retches into the pot he brought for her.

Fenris presses a concerned hand against her forehead and feels how warm it is. She tells him not to worry and rubs his cheek. Out in the garden, he plucks an apple from the tree and presents it to her for inspection. She laughs, points out the worm holes and tosses it back to him. She asks him if he ever thought about having a dog. She had a dog once, well she and Carver and Bethany. He questions why she is asking and she shrugs. She just really likes dogs and thinks they’re good company.

She lies down fully in the grass and stretches, draping a hand across her eyes. Fenris lies down beside her and his finger draws lazy patterns on her skin. She asks him if he regrets having spent so long looking after her and he tells her he could never regret one moment spent with her. “I am yours, Hawke,” he says and she tells him the same.

At night, she fights sleep. She puts a hand on his chest and wakes him. He rolls over to her, concerned, and asks her what is wrong. She cries bitter tears then and tells him she does not want to leave him. His blood runs cold. “Hawke?” he asks in a voice that feels so small and so weak. She cups his face and tells him that she’ll save the best wine for him. He asks her not to go, begs her to stay with him. She says she’ll wait for him, always.

After all, “I am yours,” she says, smiles, and closes her eyes. He cries over her body and keeps her hand pressed against his cheek. He weeps and shakes and asks her to come back. _Hawke, Hawke, Hawke_. He begs her not to leave him all alone, not again.

* * *

 

Fenris buries Hawke with flowers in her hair. He buries her in their garden, with a ring around her finger. He buries her in her scarf and her hat. He buries her with what feels like a million flowers, and her favorite books. He buries her with her note. _Come find me when you need me_. His shoulders slump and even the brightly shining sun cannot warm him. Aveline puts a hand on his back and tells him they are there for him. He need only ask.

There is no need to go to her statue now that there is a grave. He puts a hand over the fresh soil and mourns that his bird has flown where he cannot follow. Not yet. His second time losing Hawke and it is no easier than the first. He cannot bear to leave her side and the first few nights are spent sleeping by her grave. The house feels so quiet and the door to the library is closed, a mausoleum in her name.

He misses her at night, when he sleeps in their old bed. He misses her warmth beside him and the nights when they lay wrapped in each other. He misses her in the morning, when she would stretch and smile at him and say “good morning” and then it was one. He misses her in the garden, the way she would always be barefoot, and all the flowers and plants feel so dull in her absence. He dreams of her in that garden, sitting and reading, smiling and waiting.

Fenris lingers without her, and tries to live like she would want him to. He spends most of his time walking the streets of Kirkwall and helping at Sebastian’s clinic. He travels to Lothering with Carver and he shows Fenris where their home used to stand. He shares childhood stories, and how Hawke had nearly burned down their fields when she came into her magic. She was a troublemaker from the start.

He goes to Orlais with Aveline and Donnic, and browses the markets of Val Royeaux. There is a statue there, one for the Inquisitor, and he reads under the light of the flame coming from the statue’s outstretched hand. He thanks Lavellan for the warning he gave so that they could make the most of the time they had left together. He goes back to Kirkwall and helps Merrill and Isabela repair homes in the alienage. They tell him he’s always welcome to come visit.

He opens the door to the library one day, after years had passed since she left without him. The floor is covered by the fallen leaves of dead plants, wilted in the absence of care. He cleans it out and organizes the books that are scattered. He sweeps the floor and dusts the shelves and makes the bed, still messy from when she last lay in it. He cannot help but press his face against her pillow and breathe in her scent. His chest constricts and his heart hurts when he does not feel her arms around him. _I am yours_.

* * *

 

Fenris sits in the garden, by her side, and plays with the red scarf on his wrist. It is faded and worn now, evidence of all the years that have passed. _Come find me when you need me_. He needs her always and feels her absence keenly. Nothing would keep him from her. He waits for sleep. He waits to be carried back to her arms, where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We reach the end (◕‿◕✿)  
> Thank you so much, dear readers, for taking this journey with me.  
> So now we have a [finished playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4USdm0B6wQ&list=PL9BED_fEuBDhEeHOGu1fwDw9qIXJd2Z52) ◕ ◡ ◕
> 
> I have a few ideas for the next story (mainly the Lavellan/Dorian side of this story) but if you have any ideas or suggestions, I welcome them!  
> You can always find me [to talk or whatever at my tumblr](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Much love to each and everyone of you <3


End file.
